Innocence Lost
by bitchinblackframedglasses
Summary: Sherlock meets a strange little girl on one of his cases and despite his loathing of children, he finds himself getting attached; so attached that he is soon helping her deal with the painful process of growing up a genius. Parental!Sherlock and Parental!John and eventual S/J *Rating Increased for Later Chapters* Beta'd by louisuperwholocked. Fanart by charlyvonkarma.
1. Chapter 1

Innocence Lost

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_"Family is all we have left in the end, Mycroft Holmes!" –Mrs. Hudson_

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Sherlock Holmes had never been particularly fond of children; he ignored and avoided them mostly. In his line of work, there were almost never children around and if there were, he left John or Lestrade to do deal with them. He wasn't about to try and lower his mind and defenses for the sake of making a child feel better about itself. His own, painful childhood, full of bullying and quickly growing up seemed to put him off from any sort of activity or person that could remind him of his adolescence. As a child, Sherlock had been wildly brilliant, too excited and carried away with his own sense of utter creation and exploration of the world to worry about acting normal or doing normal childish activities such as fighting, throwing sticks, playing with others, etc. While the neighborhood boys played, he sat inside reading his father's giant chemistry textbooks. When Sherlock went to primary school, he stayed inside and studied world languages while the boys on the playground played tag. His behavior didn't worry his parents until Sherlock started turning his attention to other people, copying Mycroft. As his older brother, it was Mycroft's responsibility to get Sherlock home from school every day. On their daily walks, Mycroft would tell Sherlock stories about the people they passed. Sherlock thought Mycroft was making it up until he began to see for himself how it worked.

Soon, Sherlock was on the playground, giving unflinching accounts of his classmates lives from how their parents got along, if they were wealthy or poor, what they'd eaten the night before and which girl they'd kissed behind the swings. As you can imagine, that didn't go over very well and a short time later Sherlock was being taunted, beaten up, and laughed at. Sherlock, being the young genius that he was, tried to take it all in stride. As much as he wanted his classmates to understand him, they never did; so he studied harder, his remarks got sharper, and he started to bury his hurt and that yearning to be understood. Sherlock replaced his childhood with knowledge. By the time he was ten and off to a _private _primary school for children more like him, Sherlock had created the first version of his mind-palace. It was more of a mind-library, but it was a start. The private school was very different from the public school he had been attending. For one thing, the children were smarter, more civilized, and would rather recite Shakespeare with each other than run around and get dirty. On the other hand, the children there weren't nearly as observant and downright brilliant as Sherlock. He once again didn't fit in. To make things worse, these smarter, more elitist children's sneers were more at par with Sherlock's abilities, making the wounds they inflicted all the more harmful. Sherlock stayed in private schools until he was fifteen, skipping grades like wildfire in an effort to get out of schools all together. His lack of human-connection made those years awful and pushed him to claim that he was a sociopath.

Sherlock earned himself a handful of college degrees, including a smattering of doctorates by the time he was eighteen. He was cold, brilliant, and downright unfriendly. The torture had not stopped as he had expected it to at university and so he'd worked even harder, replacing friends with textbooks and a skull named Mortimer. The skull became his one 'friend'. Even though Sherlock could have gotten any job he practically desired, he instead traveled the world. He drabbled in Europe, Africa, and Russia. He only returned home when Mycroft fetched him from an opium den in India. When opium was no longer available to him, his solution was cocaine. Jobs bored him, people bored him, and drugs were the escape from that. They pushed his mind past the limits he had set up for himself. The limits were there for a reason; they were the farthest he deemed he could go so that he could still regularly function. When the drugs pushed him into his own mind, it was like he was lost in the universe with no map. After spending a few more years getting clean again (minus cigarettes), Sherlock settled in London. He soon fell in love with the place, even though Mycroft's presence was annoying. Sherlock learned the streets, the alleys, the nooks and crannies, until it was as if he had a whole world at his disposal. The inspiration to become a detective came to him when he was on the streets of London. He was insanely intelligent, he had the power of deduction on his side, and he was young, sprightly. Sherlock could handle the physical and mental qualifications of being the world's only consulting detective.

Sherlock set up a reputation for himself and began ripping through all sorts of cases like mad. At first, he didn't charge a fee. However, when it became clear to him that flats and food cost money, he amassed a small fortune for himself just by doing what he did best. It set his mind ablaze- he was doing what he loved every second of every day. When he didn't have a case, that fire went out, leaving him back in the boring clutches of everyday misery. Sherlock was consulting with the police department by the time he was twenty three, and he met John not long after. John brought human contact back into his life, reminded him and helped him learn that he could balance his intellect with the means of society.

When they got a case regarding a young soldier who had been duped and his house broken into and robbed, he and John set out for a smaller suburb of Sussex. It was there were Sherlock was thrown back into his childhood.

**OoOoOoO**

"Charley Muller, twenty. His parents died when he was eighteen. He enlisted to earn money to support himself and his younger sister. No criminal record. His house was broken into four days ago and almost everything was stolen." John said to himself as he read the tiny file Sherlock had given him. They were crossing a weedy parking lot and heading around the back of a primary school. Muller was to be picking up his sister and he said that he would meet the detective there. Sherlock had tried to insist on a more business like setting, but Muller wasn't free at any other time. He was working a second job to try and make up for their recent losses and didn't have a spare moment to give the detective. Normally that would offend Sherlock, but the man's case had sounded delightfully interesting.

"How often is Felicity on her own, Mr. Muller?" A voice as they approached, however, seemed to be starting the interrogation without them. As John and Sherlock turned the corner, they took in a small playground. The school day was over and children whose parents hadn't come yet to retrieve them were playing, screaming, and generally being children. The sound put Sherlock on edge. Standing at the edge of the sandy playground were two people. One was an older woman, who was asking about a Felicity. She was clearly in charge of the school. The other person was Charley Muller. He was young, with a shock of dark red hair that was cut in a military style. He was dressed casually and he was rubbing his face, looking exhausted.

"Fee? I pick her up from school and put in a shift at the bar so…I guess it's more than it probably should be." He admitted, looking ashamed of himself. "Even if I were to stay with her, Mrs. Unden, it wouldn't make a difference. When we do have free time she's usually wrapped up in her own little world. I try to hide the really dangerous stuff, but I'll come home and she'll be using it for one of her experiments. My neighbors won't watch her- I'm at my wits end. If I get deployed…" He cut himself off, rubbing at his face again, looking worried. The woman's face softened.

"You do an extraordinary job, young man, and you should be proud of that. I was just wondering if a bit of time with her family wouldn't keep Fee from getting into the situations she often finds herself in." She said, reaching out and patting the young man's shoulder comfortingly. Her words struck a sudden thought into Charley, judging by his sudden flinch.

"Speaking of Fee…" The younger man looked beyond the Principal, scanning the playground. He looked slightly panicked as he turned to check behind him, coming up short when he spotted the detective and John. "Oh! Hello, Detective Holmes, right? Charley Muller, nice to meet you. You must be Dr. Watson, a pleasure," He shook their hands hurriedly. "If you'd excuse me for just a moment…_Fee?" _He yelled, striding into the sandy playground. John followed him along with the Principal, leaving Sherlock no choice but to follow. He repressed painful childhood memories as he moved swiftly through the play equipment, scowling when sand threatened to get on his coat.

"It's ok that your parent's are never home; mine are dead and my brother is always working. It really isn't a wonder that you can't read. I'll tutor you though." A bright, flowing voice of a young girl reached their ears as Charley made it through the playground and started off towards an empty corner of the school yard. Off in the distance they could clearly see a group of boys. One stepped forward, the instigator, bearing down on a little girl with vibrant red hair.

"Right," the boy spluttered, his face red. He pulled back his fist and punched her right in the face with all his might, almost knocking the little girl flat on her back.

"_HEY!"_ Charley yelled, breaking into a jog. To everyone's surprise, including the bully's, Felicity Muller turned without batting an eyelid and socked him right in the nose just as her brother ran up. The boys scrambled away in a pack, the bully just ducking under Charley's arm to race away with his group. "I want their names, all of them." Charley said furiously to Mrs. Unden as she came to a stop, a matronly scowl on her face.

"Charley," she warned and he sighed, kneeling down to get on his sister's level, his anger momentarily forgotten.

"Let me see, Fee," He said, and the little girl huffed. Her hair was just as shockingly red as her brother's and she wore it in a single French-braid down her back. Her uniform was as neat as a pin. The only thing out of place was her rapidly bruising eye. She turned her face away from her Charley and crossed her arms, drawing herself up as if nothing was wrong, as if she hadn't just been punched in the face.

"_Felicity_, Charley. My eye is perfectly fine, thank you for your concern." Even though her voice carried the immaturity of youth, her drive and vocabulary made John's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. She sounded like a mini-Sherlock.

"Fee," Charley groaned, smoothing her hair and turning her face to look at him. "What am I going to do with you? Why did you say that to that poor bloke?" He asked. A flitter of affection and then annoyance crossed the little-girl's face and her frosty attitude instantly fell away.

"He started it, Charley. He started making fun of me for recitation and then I told him to please act his age and stop his nominal taunting. _Then, _he said I was 'a cheeky little freak' and that he'd get his Dad to fix me. I told him what is painfully obvious, that his Dad is never home cause he's always fishing and his Mum wouldn't do something like that and that if they were home he'd be a better reader and that he wouldn't feel so jealous about the fact that I recite and he can't. I did the polite thing and offered to tutor him, the logical solution to his problem, and he punched me." She let out in a rant, her lip threatening to fall into a pout.

"Oh, Fee. It was nice of you to offer, but can't you see that your words might have hurt him just a little?" Charley asked, and Felicity shrugged. "Fine then, let me look at your eye. It's blackening up and it'll swell if I don't have a look."

"It'll swell regardless," she said daintily, backing away when he tried to touch it. Sherlock instantly noticed that even though she seemed very graceful, her body was very stiff and drawn up- she was hiding behind her intelligent shell, she was putting on a show. Sherlock noticed it because he was used to doing it all the time. It made his heart clench uncomfortably.

"Actually, I'm a doctor; I'll have a look at it. If the Lady doesn't mind, of course." John said, offering Felicity a wink. She looked shyly away for a moment, seemed to look to her brother for permission (or protection, depending on how you read a child's psychology) and then nodded. John knelt down to her level. "That's a zinger, to be sure." He noted to himself, lightly reaching up and touching her face. She didn't flinch; in fact, she was looking at John as closely as he was looking at her.

"You're a soldier, aren't you?" She asked with all the curiosity of a child as he examined her eye. "You were deployed somewhere recently too." She added, unintentionally cocking her head to the side as she scrutinized John. He blinked at her dead-on assumptions and then shot a grin behind him at Sherlock before nodding to Felicity.

"Yes, I am. Capitan John Hamish Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." John rattled off. Charley leapt into a subconscious salute, making Felicity giggle quietly. John gave him a nod and a smile before standing up from Felicity. "You took quite a punch, m'lady, but you should be just fine." He told her, and she offered him a sweet smile in return. She couldn't be more than seven years old, and yet she seemed to have an air of maturity about her that clashed with her sunny, childlike voice and when she couldn't help it, mannerisms.

"It looks like this situation is in very capable hands. Felicity, I'll see you tomorrow at school." Mrs. Unden said warmly before turning and walking away. Her action woke Sherlock up a bit from the memories he thought he'd purposefully deleted from his mind-palace. They hadn't been deleted- just buried, and that would pose a great problem for Sherlock. He'd buried those memories for a reason. His childhood had helped to make him into the cold and imposing man he was today. He wanted to bury his past as far away as possible. At the same time, the idea of not saying anything to this little girl who was obviously going through the same thing he was felt wrong to Sherlock.

"Are we going home? I have a test going that I need to check on soon," Felicity said, sounding hopeful and anxious at the same time as she looked up at her brother.

"Not quite yet. I have to talk with these two first. Do you think you can keep yourself out of trouble for a few moments?" Charley asked in a bit sterner of a voice as Felicity's face quickly became as innocent as possible to deflect his accusation of her getting into trouble.

"I'd actually like to have a talk with Ms. Felicity, if she wouldn't mind. John, you can question Mr. Muller, correct?" Sherlock made a split second decision. He'd already gotten the gist of the case just by looking at Charley and he was more interested in Felicity Muller at the moment rather than her brother. As much as children put him off and, although he would never admit it, frightened him, Sherlock's interest was piqued by this little girl. He could see himself in her, and that was a new experience for him.

"Uh, sure," Charley said, looking taken aback. "You'll be ok, Felicity, if Detective Holmes watches you for a second?" He checked with his sister, ever the big-brother and father all in one. Felicity huffed, crossing her arms again.

"I don't need watching, I'm not a child." She chided her brother in such a mature way that John nearly burst out laughing at the sight of a child saying such a thing. Once her brother and John had walked to the other side to talk on the benches, Felicity looked at Sherlock curiously, her warm brown eyes scrutinizing him closely. Then she turned and walked to the nearest bench, pulling her school bag out from underneath it. She propped it next to her, as if to watch it and make sure it was still safe, before starting to murmur under her breath. Sherlock instantly realized she was doing a recitation- he'd done them often as a child, an adolescent, and even now sometimes. He'd started with mathematical equations and moved onto the names of all the bones in the human body. He currently recited the periodic table when he felt bored or anxious.

"What are you reciting?" He asked sitting next to her somewhat stiffly. Sherlock felt very odd talking with a child for the first time in a long time. It was quite clear to him that Felicity was very different from most children but he felt nervous all the same. She stopped, looking at him, with bright, happy eyes as she recognized the fact that he recognized what she was doing. It made the black eye on her face look even worse to Sherlock as he knew that her recitation was the reason that put it there.

"I'm reciting numbers in ancient languages up to 1,000. I've already stored it though; I need a new list to work on." She chattered, confident that Sherlock wasn't going to punch her or treat her like adults usually did- like a child.

"Stored, hmm?" Sherlock prompted, and Felicity tapped her temple.

"In my head. I've created the tallest building in the world right in here! Every floor is a different subject." She said proudly. It became instantly obvious to Sherlock that she had already created her own version of his mind-palace but one to suit her own needs. Based off of her description, he could envision a skyscraper with an elevator. Every floor was dedicated to a different thing, person, idea, or place. It was very basic architecture, but if it suited her needs Sherlock was impressed.

"What a novel idea to keep things separated up there. Mine is a palace." Sherlock shared, walking the thin line between not shutting her down with austere adult-talk but not babying her either. Felicity's eyes grew round as she looked at Sherlock.

"You're like _me!" _She whispered, delight filling up her face. Sherlock felt his lips twitch up into a smile. "It makes sense, I suppose, considering you are a detective. I like that yours is a palace. Do you recite the street names of London?" She fired off, having already figured out that Sherlock was from London just by looking at him.

"No. I recite the periodic table by element and then atomic number and mass," Sherlock said, and Felicity grinned, thrilled with her new friend. "What else do you do besides recite?" He asked, feeling himself slip back into the better parts of his childhood where he felt unparalleled thrill upon discovering something or starting to study a new area of science. The return to his youth was starting to become less unpleasant. Felicity eyed him for a moment before scooting a little bit closer.

"Can you keep a secret?" She asked the age-old childhood question with a tone full of all of the doubt, worry yet anticipation to reveal the secret that all children and even adults sometimes still used. Sherlock gave her a solemn nod. Felicity checked on her brother for a moment before giving Sherlock an excited, slightly guilty smile.

"Sometimes I just look at people. I think you do this all the time- as a detective it would make sense for you to do so. I'll just look at people and find out things about them. Since everyone is different it's usually very good fun." She confessed, and Sherlock felt a prickle on the back of his neck. It was as if history was repeating itself in front of his very eyes.

"I do the same thing. In London, I like to keep track of where the tourists come from when I'm bored and on the tube." He told her, and she laughed. "How about experiments? Do you do any of those?" Sherlock asked, and she nodded briskly.

"I'm currently testing how light and heat can affect different textiles, how air speed wears different types of metals and how electricity can be stored and re-conducted through bodily fluids. That's why I wanted to go home; the experiment with the electricity is currently going in the bathtub and I don't want Charley to find it. He'll get mad." Felicity said with the air of a proud scientist. It took a lot of Sherlock's willpower not to laugh, not because he thought her experiments were stupid, but because he could imagine that her brother quite often found odd experiments going on in the house. With the previous knowledge he'd gathered that Felicity was often by herself, it explained why she'd been able to set up the reaction in the bathtub in the first place. "What about you? You're a chemist." She asked. Her question reminded Sherlock of a time when he would do something similar. He'd be making conversation and unintentionally ask a question that revealed that he knew something about someone that normally no one else would. Felicity seemed to do it mindlessly, and that would explain the Principal's concern for her safety. This couldn't have been her first punch or first 'situation' with bullies. It made Sherlock fond and angry at the same time.

"I'm testing how saliva coagulates after death. It gave John quite a fright when he found the severed head in the fridge." Sherlock said, and Felicity giggled, not at all mortified or scared about the idea that Sherlock had a decapitated head in his fridge like any normal person, not to mention a child, would be. "Now, what can you tell me about the break-in at your house?" Sherlock asked, switching topics. If Felicity was home alone by herself for long periods of time, she might have noticed something odd. The burglary itself was carefully planned for when no one was home and so that the thieves had enough time to take almost everything. No team of burglars would simply come at a random time during the day and hope that the house was empty. It was a premeditated crime. Felicity wrinkled her nose.

"Charley got a weird job almost two weeks ago. He said he'd joined a club called _The Redhead-League_. What a stupid and uncreative name, isn't it? Anyway, all he had to do was show-up and write out copies of classic literature for about three hours and he got paid 40 pounds per day. Considering we aren't the richest family, Charley thought it was a good idea. So, after school, I ran my experiments and such while he went out for this little club. It didn't take me long to notice that a black Fiat would drive past our house everyday at the same time, four o' clock. I dismissed it solely on the basis that the Fiat's plates were registered for our suburb and because the situation could easily be someone returning home from work. I realize now that I made a mistake. I believe that the men that robbed our house were in that Fiat everyday, checking on the house to see what was going on at that time. I should have faked illness to see if the car drove by at any other time during the day, but I didn't." Felicity rattled off instantly. For a child as young as she was, she was just as observant as Sherlock, if not more so. It was mind-boggling.

"So you think that this _Redhead-League _has something to do with the robbery." Sherlock said. The plan was ingenious. Pay off the guardian, someone they perceived as the real threat, because the total profit made from ransacking the house would easily cover the 40 pounds per day. They wouldn't have suspected that a little girl would notice such things. Once everyone was out of the house and the robbers were familiar with the inhabitants' habits, the men would break in and take everything. Then, _The Redhead-League _would disappear, leaving Charley Muller to look like a stupid liar. Felicity smiled in that pleased, calm way that Sherlock often did when someone put the pieces of the puzzle together in front of him when he'd already solved it.

"I know that they are. I can prove at least three men broke into our house." Felicity reached into her backpack and pulled out three Ziploc bags. Each one had a square of white cloth, neatly cut. On each piece of fabric were ginger hairs. "Just because I didn't stay home to prove my theory doesn't mean that I didn't take precautions. We keep most of the valuables in the basement, and Charley hardly ever goes down there. To set up a trap I strung up some white cloth in a confusing pattern, like a maze. The men, in their rush, went down and got tangled up in the cloth for awhile; they ripped it all down. However, in their entanglement, each one left hairs behind. I think you'll notice that at the root of the hairs, the color is _not _red. The men dyed their hair and invented the club to con my brother." Felicity said, handing the bags to Sherlock who took them carefully, holding each one up to the light. He felt like applauding yet he was also very stunned. He had finally found someone else who used their mind that wasn't Mycroft.

"May I safely assume that you knew that I would be arriving?" Sherlock asked, feeling a genuine smile grace his face as he turned to the happy little girl. She was intelligent enough to know (sadly) that if she tried to take her evidence to the police she would be mollycoddled and told not to worry; the adults would take care of it. Felicity must have planned on giving this information to the private detective and planned on letting him finish it up and deliver it to the police.

"I was hoping you would. They wouldn't let me into the forensic lab so I couldn't process the hairs for DNA." Felicity scowled briefly, real frustration showing on her face before it smoothed out. "Considering your reputation, age, and recourses, I was hoping that you could use that evidence to find the men and bring them to justice."

"It's my job. You've made it much easier, and I thank you for that." Sherlock said, tucking the samples into his jacket. He paused for a moment, looking at the odd little girl in front of him. Her black eye was now a deep purple-blue and it had swollen slightly. He almost opened his mouth to give her advice on dealing with the bullies, almost told her that her mind was extraordinary and she shouldn't let others' comments make her feel embarrassed about her gift. However, before he got the chance, John came back over, Charley Muller beside him.

"You need ice, Fee," Charley said instantly, bending down to get a better look at Felicity. "And I think it's about time we got home, don't you think?" He said as she gave him a slightly exasperated look. He backed off and she stood up, putting on her backpack. "Do you think you've gotten everything you needed, Detective?" Charley asked, putting an arm around Felicity. She stood calmly under his touch, leaning slightly against his leg.

"Yes, I believe I have. Did you get through all the questions, John?" Sherlock asked, standing also, his coat swirling slightly from the movement.

"Uh, yep. I took notes, just in case. We should be set. How's the eye, m'lady?" John asked Felicity, and she gave him a smile as if her eye wasn't blackened at all. She was very good at hiding pain, Sherlock noted. She'd already started the process of pretending like it didn't exist; she'd started the process of learning how to shove pain away. The acting practice had begun and she would get plenty of it throughout school and growing up. The idea made his insides squirm slightly. He felt an overwhelming urge to say something and yet his own social awkwardness kept him from doing so. He wouldn't know what to say and how to say it in a way that wouldn't shut her down.

"Blackened, Dr. Watson, but it'll heal. Thank you for looking at it." She said politely.

"You're welcome." John said warmly.

"Thanks for agreeing to the case, Detective, Doctor. I hope you can solve it. You can call anytime if you need any more information." Charley said gratefully.

"I have a feeling this case will clear up within a few days, Mr. Muller." Sherlock said, unable not to smile just a little when Felicity looked down, fighting a grin. There was a pause as Sherlock struggled to find the right words. "Thank you for speaking with me, Ms. Muller." Sherlock said, and she looked up again, the grin firmly in place.

"Thank _you _for speaking with me, Mr. Holmes. The experience was most enlightening." Felicity said shyly, but her voice was warm, excited.

"We'll be in touch." John said when Sherlock and Felicity just shared a smile. Sherlock's behavior was so unusual to him that he had to try his hardest not to stare. They all shook hands and then the detective and the doctor were walking away.

"This has to be the strangest thing I've ever heard or seen in a long time, and that's saying something." John said as they got into the car. "_The Redhead-League? _What is that all about?" He asked, and when Sherlock didn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, John continued. "And then there's Felicity Muller. God, Sherlock, I swear she's related to you. What did you talk about?" John asked and Sherlock barely glanced at him.

"The case," Sherlock supplied unhelpfully, and John sighed. He began to wonder if it was worth prying at Sherlock to get him to spill. "Considering her intellect, I figured she had important information regarding the case." Sherlock added to appease him.

"Did she? She must have, she's just like you," John added to himself, and Sherlock very nearly flinched. That was a deep fear that was starting to steal over him; he wasn't sure if he wanted Felicity Muller to turn out like him; a social outcast, a 'sociopath', a freak, someone so isolated, so odd in the eyes of society that they would never, _ever _fit in. Sherlock wasn't sure if he wanted to stop it or wanted to encourage it. Felicity had so much potential, so much promise, and at such a young age too. Something that extraordinary shouldn't be crushed or meddled with, at least, that's what Sherlock believed. He also believed that emotion (or, to be more specific, the horrible childhood memories that made Sherlock biased towards the whole situation) had no place in making rational decisions.

"Yes. She almost solved the whole thing by herself. We'll have to go to St. Bart's to process the rest of the evidence before I can conclude the case in her stead." Sherlock answered shortly, forcing his conflicted emotions away. Now was not the time. There was a case to be solved, the game was on and the sooner he solved it, the sooner he'd be able to see Felicity Muller again.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Sorry for the amount of Sherlock-whumpage in just the first chapter; it shouldn't be that angsty again. What do you think of Felicity? What did you think of my little hint of the original stories? **_**The Redhead-League **_**was one of my favorites, so I decided to throw it into this story.**

**As usual, I'm not nearly lucky enough to own the rights to ACD's original works or BBC Sherlock.**

**Stay tuned for more!**


	2. Chapter 2

One week later, Sherlock had the case of _The Redhead-League _solved. The DNA analysis had led him to three different men in Sussex, all with recently dyed red hair. It took Sherlock a bit longer to find the fourth man, the brains of the operation, but only because he was on the run. Sherlock had deduced from John's notes that Charley Muller's family and life were no secret to his current regiment. Out of his so-called 'friends' it was very easy to find the last fake redhead who had the knowledge to dream up the whole sham. Sherlock then spent a few days rounding back up all of the Muller's possessions from resale shops and having it shipped back to their home. One round of bringing the Yard up to speed and an evening of paperwork later, John and Sherlock drove back out to Sussex. The case had been very fascinating to Sherlock (the mind of a criminal going to great lengths was always intriguing), but now that it was solved he was only paying a visit so that he could once again see Felicity Muller. He had spent most of his 'free-time' making a spot for her in his mind-palace. He had done a lot of thinking about her and his childhood and mistakes made. It was very against what Sherlock usually felt comfortable with, but he had decided to say _something _to her about dealing with bullies. He felt a strange obligation to keep her from harm.

When they pulled up to the house, Sherlock was disappointed to find that only Charley was waiting for them. "Hello!" he called as Sherlock and John got out of the car. He crossed to meet them as Sherlock and John stepped onto the lawn. "I can't thank you enough," he said as they approached, the sheer gratefulness on his face managing to cover his exhaustion. It was obvious that Charley Muller worked himself to the bone every day, and even more obvious to Sherlock that he was forced to work the way he did because the parents of the Muller siblings were killed almost two years ago. The nature of the accident seemed to suggest a vehicular incident to Sherlock, but without more data he couldn't make an educated guess. "You really did save us a lot of grief." Charley said, shaking both of their hands warmly.

"It was no trouble," Sherlock said briskly. He spent the next few minutes breezing through the case and who was responsible for the burglary. He glossed over Felicity's involvement, knowing that it would only cause Charley more stress than was probably healthy for a man in his position. He answered all of Charley's questions, even if he thought that they were pointless. The idea of seeing Felicity again had made him strangely patient.

"Felicity and I are indebted to you both." Charley said finally, rubbing his face, looking more tired than before now that he'd heard the whole story.

"Speaking of Felicity, where is she? How's her eye?" John asked conversationally, and Sherlock mentally praised him in his head. John had unparalleled social skills that Sherlock often relied on. He was irreplaceable when it came to charming clients, suspects, the Yard, Mycroft… If John hadn't brought up Felicity, Sherlock was sure that he would be unable to do so in a socially acceptable sense.

"Oh, Fee? She's inside working on an experiment. She took quite a liking to you, Mr. Holmes." Charley said, and Sherlock quirked an eyebrow but lay off on an intimidating stare. He wanted information, not to discourage Charley from speaking further. His heart had leapt at Charley's comment anyway. "There are very few adults who Felicity is comfortable with." He said carefully, speaking slower now as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. "She's horrible with kids her own age, mind, but she's not so great with adults either." Charley paused, rubbing his head, looking slightly bemused. "Do you want to pop in for a quick hello, maybe a cup of tea? Felicity will be really thrilled." He said, gesturing to the house.

"We'd be delighted." John said, and Charley lead the way into the house, getting John and Sherlock seats at the kitchen table. Their kitchen was barren but obviously well-loved. It looked as if he was still in the process of putting back all of their belongings; some things were still in boxes. A rag and some cleaning supplies were sitting on one of the kitchen counters from when he'd been cleaning up their furniture earlier that day, if the state of his shirt cuffs were anything for Sherlock to go by.

"Fee? Guess who's here!" Charley called down the hallway as he poured water into the kettle. There was no response. "Fee!" Charley called again as he grabbed mugs and teabags. When Felicity didn't appear, he sighed. "Just a second, sorry," He apologized, turning the corner and going to find Felicity. "Fee, the detective and the doctor are here! Why don't you come out and-" he abruptly stopped talking, and both Sherlock and John turned to look towards his voice. "Fee? This isn't funny. Fee!" Charley's voice got increasingly panicked until he dashed back into the kitchen. "Fee's gone," he panted, eyes half wild. Sherlock stood up instantly, John close behind.

"Let me see," Sherlock ordered, and Charley led him back down the hallway and into a room off the hall. It was obvious that it was Felicity's; the room was incredibly neat and full to the brim with textbooks and scientific equipment. There were a series of beakers set up on the floor on a tarp with many different electrical probes in them. Some of the solutions in the beakers were bubbling slightly. The window was open, a chair beneath it, which was the first place that Sherlock looked. He immediately crossed over to it and looked out the window, already noting footprints into the fresh, springy grass. "This way," Sherlock said, turning on his heel and leaving the house, his coat billowing behind him, John and Charley on his heels. John was saying something to Charley, probably words of encouragement or reassurance, but Sherlock didn't care at the moment. He wasn't worried for Felicity; she'd left her own house under her own volition, and there were no other footprints on the lawn. However, Sherlock was curious as to where Felicity had gone. Sherlock followed her trail until he got deeper into the suburb. Then he had a three-way choice; one road or two different alleys.

"You two take the alleys; they'll be dead ends eventually. I'll search the street." Sherlock directed, already walking on down the road, his eyes looking for clues or hints as to where Felicity could have gone. He was walking for less than five minutes when he heard a shout back from where he'd come. Considering no audible scolding followed the initial yell, Sherlock instantly felt as if something was wrong. A bit of light jogging later, he'd made it down the alley. His stomach dropped when he saw Charley and John kneeling beside the small, unmoving body of Felicity. Charley was smoothing her hair, trembling slightly, his face ashen. Felicity was wearing a turtleneck sweater that turned into a little dress, and leggings. It was torn in a few places; almost her whole right sleeve was ripped off. Judging by the welts visible on that arm, she'd run into some bullies once more. Her black eye had faded slightly and hadn't been punched again. John had his fingers pressed to the inside of her right wrist, face grim. As he straightened her out, listening for breathing, Sherlock's eyes swept over the scene. Lots of footprints, small, and the dirt of the alley had been stirred up; conclusion: the same band of boys as before had returned. Also, Felicity's fingernails were slightly bluish, as if there was poor circulation to them: she was hypothermic or she'd been dead for much longer than what appeared to be logical; conclusion: this wasn't just a beating. Something else had to have happened. But what?

"Right," John muttered under his breath, interlocking his fingers and starting chest compressions. He'd done only three when there was a loud snapping noise. Something whizzed out of Felicity's sleeve and hit the wall of the alley. Before John, Sherlock and Charley could get over their initial surprise and take a closer look at the object, Felicity stirred and blinked, coming _back to life. _

"Did it work? Oh, it must have!" She exclaimed, reaching up her sleeve and pulling out a rubber band about three centimeters wide that looked long enough to wrap around her. It was broken on one end. Sherlock paced over to the object that had flown out of her sleeve and found a second band broken similarly. "It worked!" Felicity cried, positively beaming as she sat up.

"Oh God, _Fee," _Charley swept Felicity up into a tight embrace, cutting himself off. As he hugged his little sister, John glanced at Sherlock, looking bemused.

"No pulse, no breathing. She was dead ten seconds ago," He told Sherlock in an undertone. Sherlock felt his eyebrows rise but he said nothing. He'd already pieced together what Felicity had done, but he was still incredulous as to why and starting to bubble with pride as he realized that she'd orchestrated it all by herself.

"_Why_ would you do that?" Charley yelled, setting Felicity down briefly before hugging her again before she could answer. Felicity returned his embrace, looking incredibly guilty now.

"I'm sorry, Charley, really, I am. I didn't mean for you to ever even know about this." She murmured, burying her face into his neck.

"What?" Charley said, surprised, pulling away and holding her at arms' length. "What do you mean?"

"This was supposed to be a quick solution to a difficult problem. Last week you told me it was wrong to have punched Richard Pulley in the nose. It took me no time at all to agree with you; violence is never a practical solution to any problem. So, I came up with a plan to keep those boys from bothering me again." Felicity summarized to her brother's confused face, looking chagrined.

"By faking your own death?" John spluttered, half indignant and half bemused. She turned, following the voice, and beamed at him.

"Oh, hello! I didn't realize you two were here," she said brightly, glancing at Sherlock as well. "But yes, you're exactly right, Dr. Watson. Faking my death was the perfect solution." She turned her smile back to her brother, who was staring at her in shock.

"Fee, you were _dead." _He repeated, and the smile died on her face to be replaced with shame and regret.

"I didn't plan on you realizing I was gone so quickly. This was only supposed to take five minutes, maybe less." She said, frowning to herself as if she'd done a math problem wrong and was stumped as to why she didn't have the correct answer.

"You were only supposed to be dead for five minutes," John repeated slowly, disbelief evident in his voice. "I'm sorry, can I just…?" He reached over and gently took her pulse again on her right wrist, then her left, shaking his head slowly as he tried to understand. As an extremely experienced medical professional, he was a bit shocked to say that he was stumped.

"Come on," Charley said, standing up and taking Felicity's hand firmly. I want to hear the whole story from you young lady." He led the detective and the doctor back to his home, not letting go of Felicity once. Considering she was the only family he had left, Sherlock reasoned that he had a right to be concerned. However, it had something to do with sentiment, something Sherlock was usually quite oblivious to. He'd have to ask John about it later. "Alright, stay right there." Charley ordered as Felicity sat at the table on a phone book so that she was the proper height. It only took a few minutes for him to make tea for everyone. He took his tea black, Felicity with milk, John with milk, and Sherlock with two sugars. There was a pause as Charley took a sip of his tea and took a good long look at Felicity. "Start at the beginning, leave _nothing _out." He directed, the 'big-brother/father' tone evident in his voice. Felicity cleared her throat and then began.

"Violence wasn't going to solve my problem, and neither was talking to them." She started, gesturing to her black eye. "Revenge always backfires, it's too personal, and so I figured that my next step was to scare them." Her tone settled into a comfortable lecture as she got into her story. "I also had very limited recourses and time to come up with my plan, so it had to be a good one. It is very hard to frighten little boys, despite the usual stereotype, which was also a problem. I decided that I'd trick the boys into thinking that I was free for a good beating out in the alleys- they've done it before so there would be no suspicion." She glossed over the fact that they'd done it before, and that made Sherlock slightly angry. If the idea of being beaten up was nothing to her, how many times had it happened? "My plan was to fake my death during their beating so that they would think that they'd killed me. None of them are very bright so it wasn't going to be too difficult."

"How many times have they got to you in that alley, Fee?" Charley asked, his grip tight around his tea mug and his eyes furious. Felicity waved a hand dismissively, her perfect neutral poker face on display.

"Unimportant," she said in a light tone, as if the beatings never bothered her. That told Sherlock that it happened quite often and she was very good at hiding it. Rage boiled silently inside him for the band of ignorant little boys that had pushed Felicity to such an extreme measure as faking her own death.

"Well, it definitely worked. I've been a doctor my whole life and I was certain that you were dead, Felicity." John said, sounding disturbed. Felicity grinned brightly at him, not at all fazed by his worry.

"Excellent." She said, savoring the word, and Charley made a noise in his throat that sounded slightly disapproving, slightly strangled. "Sorry, Charley," she apologized again, seeing his expression. The bright grin on her face didn't leave, however. Now that her brother was reassured, she was extremely excited to tell her tale.

"Just keep talking," Charley ordered, pointing a finger at her, slipping back into parental control. Felicity placed the broken bands on the table at Charley's request to keep going.

"The human body has a series of pressure points around the torso that can trigger unconsciousness. They are really quite convenient; arteries to the arms are in the same area, as well as your lungs, obviously." Felicity slipped back into the lecture, using herself as a model. "If you apply consistent pressure to those areas, your body faints, almost all blood pressure is cut off to the arms, and your breathing is restricted to just what is necessary to keep you alive; which is very little if you think about it." She paused to take a sip of tea. "So, I planned out when the boys usually go by those alleys and then placed the bands around myself and set out to find them. I had very little time to provoke them before I'd faint, so I had to time it very accurately. Thankfully, I found them fairly quickly, and it didn't take much to get them to go at me. I blacked out during it, and planned on waking up alone, free to walk back home, tidy up, and act like nothing every happened. The plan was to show up at school tomorrow and see the looks on their faces when they thought I'd risen from the dead." Felicity was grinning again by the end of her story, looking very proud of herself.

"How did you know they'd think you were dead?" John asked after a moment. The level of detail in her plan astounded him to a point where it was hard to even formulate that question. If Sherlock were in Felicity's position, he would probably chide John for 'seeing but not observing', but Felicity was not Sherlock. She beamed in response to John's question. She clearly loved revealing things of a hidden nature whereas Sherlock was mostly impatient that you didn't see it in the first place.

"Psychology." Sherlock answered before she could, considering he had already put together the pieces of her plan. He was also impressed with the level of detail she had put into her plan as well as her knowledge of human anatomy and psychology. She was frighteningly clever, and Sherlock loved it. Felicity reminded him of himself when he was a child, scaring Mycroft and Mummy half to death over the smallest things. "Very clever, Felicity." He added, and she blushed a little at his praise.

"What? Psychology?" Charley repeated, leaning over his long forgotten cup of tea. Felicity nodded at him, grinning.

"I know that at least half of those boys watch a lot of crap telly and a lot of the programming includes bad crime shows that would have made the boys think that when someone collapses they're instantly dead. The show would have also instructed them to feel for a pulse. Considering the bands only reduce blood flow to the arms, I had to psychologically deter them for trying to feel at the usual place, which is the carotid artery. Therefore, I wore a turtleneck. If they assumed that their actions caused my death, they'd be less likely to want to touch me in the first place, never mind get under my collar. The next logical place would be a wrist, where I wouldn't have any pulse that they could detect. Once they thought that they'd killed me, the boys would panic and leave the scene of the crime." Felicity explained breezily, wiggling her fingers experimentally. Without proper oxygen circulating to her arms and fingers, her nails had started to turn blue, but now her fingernails were starting to turn pink again.

"Hang on," John said, sitting up straighter. "You said that you were only supposed to be dead for five minutes- but if I hadn't started chest compressions and snapped the bands you would have died for real without proper oxygen intake."

"Oh, very good!" Felicity chirped, face practically glowing now. "The bands were so tight that after five minutes their strength is supposed to fail and go slack. Your pressure caused them to actually _snap_. Regardless of another human presence, I would have been revived over time."

"Felicity, the nerve and tissue damage caused by five minutes of little oxygen and very little blood flow could have been severe. You're lucky that you only your fingernails turned blue." John said disapprovingly. Felicity shrugged.

"The benefits outweighed the risks." She said, and then turned to Charley. "I'm really, _really _sorry, Charley. I never meant for you to know about any of this. I just wanted the problem to go away." She admitted, and for once, she really seemed to be seven years old. Despite her excitement over her success and her overall happiness with her audience, her voice had very nearly cracked on the word 'problem', betraying her true emotions. Charley reached over and mussed her hair, the movement masking how Sherlock shifted slightly. He could remember the same feeling, the same desperation to end the 'problem', along with the confusion as to why it was happening in the first place. If she'd gone this far to try and stop the bullying, then it must have been worse than she'd let Charley know. Sherlock had to resist the urge to get up and find all the boys and give them a good reviling.

"If this is your solution to problems like this, I'd rather you just punched them." Charley said, giving Felicity a half-hearted smile, making her giggle. "Fee, if this is getting bad, you have to let me know. I'm proud of you for trying to solve it on your own without violence, but faking your own death is _not _ok. Alright?" Charley said firmly, and Felicity nodded to her tea. "Right, then, enough of that." Charley laid the matter to rest, getting up and pouring himself another cup of tea.

"You solved the case," Felicity said suddenly, raising her head and looking directly at Sherlock, a smile returning to her lips. "You must have- that's why you're here."

"The case is solved. Would you like me to explain it to you?" Sherlock asked, and Felicity nodded eagerly. Sherlock glossed over exactly _how _he'd gotten the DNA that he used for the tests that eventually incriminated the three men, but he did go into intense detail about finding the fourth. Felicity listened silently the whole time, nodding once or twice, her finger absentmindedly running around the rim over her teacup over and over again. "While in the midst of trying to find you, I happened to notice the experiment in your room." Sherlock noted when he'd finished explaining and there was a moment of silence. Felicity's eyes lit up as she processed what Sherlock had said.

"Uh oh," Charley noted as she wiggled down off the phone book and chair, abandoning her tea, "You might be here all night." Charley chuckled at Sherlock, who had half risen, unsure of what Felicity wanted as she dashed around the table.

"You have to come and see it, I want your opinion on the matter anyway," she said, seizing him by the hand and forcefully dragging him down the hallway to her room which was difficult, considering he was about four times her height. "It might be a little overdone now, but that won't matter. I'm still testing the ability of bodily fluids to hold an electrical charge. It's been a long process, a little smelly too, but it's just so fascinating," she chattered as she turned on the light, releasing his hand to go and kneel by her experiment, switching off the current and removing the metal prongs. Sherlock crouched beside her, awkwardness forgotten as he took in the experiment. He patiently supplied opinions and listened to her, reading over her notes. The experiment was interesting, but Sherlock had other things on his mind. He wanted to talk with her about her problem even though her brother had let it go. "Is something wrong? You're very quiet." Felicity said in a brisk tone from behind a book as she was looking something up and writing a note at the same time.

"Felicity, I want to talk about what happened to you today." Sherlock managed to keep his tone gentle. Whenever he thought about 'what had happened' a furious pit of rage ignited in him for what the bullies had forced Felicity to do. Felicity stiffened and then resumed writing like she hadn't heard him, her face unusually set. "When I was your age I got a face full of dirt almost everyday. The torture was relentless." Sherlock continued calmly. Felicity slowly lowered the book, her writing stopping. As her eyes came into view, one blackened, the look in them nearly broke Sherlock's heart. They had a forced calm about them and yet he could see just how much pain was behind that wall, that barrier. He knew exactly what it felt like, and that made it worse.

"Why does it happen?" She asked, for once sounding like her age. Her voice was quiet and small; it was clearly hard for her to admit that the bullying hurt her.

"It's not because they hate you or are jealous of you, Felicity. You've done nothing wrong. They bully you because they don't understand how extraordinary you are." Sherlock felt the words escaping from him more than he heard them, his tone gentle and yet extremely firm. His tone was so sincere that Felicity quickly looked away as her traitorous eyes started to well up with tears.

"I _want _them to understand," she whispered, shaking her head. "Why can't they understand?"

"Felicity, I don't think the bullies ever will. However, others will understand you. They'll accept you for who you are if you stay true to yourself and don't let others change you." If Sherlock could have gone back in time and said those same words to himself, he wondered if he would have had a less tormented childhood. It was that thought that made him hope that his words would help Felicity.

"Do you really think so?" She sniffed, meeting his gaze again. Sherlock gave her a gentle smile.

"I know so. Look at John; he is my best friend. He understands me and accepts me, _all _of me. It will happen, Felicity." Sherlock reassured her, and then had to catch his balance on the desk when Felicity quickly hugged him, becoming lost in his large coat. Sherlock returned the hug, knowing inside that he'd done the right thing, done all that was socially acceptable to do. It felt right, and that made him happy. After a minute, Felicity pulled away, eyes dry, expression determined. Even with Sherlock in the crouch he was in their faces were barely level; Felicity was rather small for her age.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, giving him a shy smile. "I appreciate the effort that took you." Sherlock blinked at her words and she gave a little huff, rolling her eyes. "I've seen your website, Mr. Holmes, and if you are a sociopath, that took a lot of effort. I'm thankful that you made social contact just for me." Just when Sherlock thought she had gone back to being a normal little-girl, she completely destroyed his expectations. It was an odd, fond sort of feeling.

"Call me Sherlock." Sherlock insisted, skipping over the bit about his sociopathic tendencies. Felicity beamed at him, giggling behind her hands at his reaction. Before either of them could say another word, Charley knocked, peeking his head around the door, his expression clearly prepared for the worst.

"Oh good, no casualties." He said in a voice filled with fake relief as he teased his sister. Felicity gave a half delighted, half annoyed huff as she shut the book she'd been making a note out of. "I know that you don't want to hear it, Fee, but its bedtime." Charley added, and Felicity pulled a face.

"It's seven." Felicity scoffed.

"Yes, well, we've got to get you cleaned up, I have to cut the power to your room so that I don't wake up to another explosion, and I have to count in two hours of reading time before you _actually _fall asleep." Charley said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Checkmate," Felicity muttered in defeat. Sherlock rose, instantly towering over her with his height. "At any rate, thank you for letting me consult you on my experiment and for saving my brother a lot of trouble." Felicity said, offering her hand for Sherlock to shake. Sherlock had to lean over to accept the handshake.

"I am always at your disposal." Sherlock said, returning the gesture, keeping his words a bit more vague than usual so that Felicity would understand his deeper, more implied meaning. Felicity looked cautious, but she was biting her lip to hide back a smile, something that Sherlock took as a good sign that she'd already given a lot of thought to what he'd said.

"Let us know how those boys react tomorrow, alright?" John said as Charley and Felicity showed Sherlock and John out. Felicity grinned again, promising to do so as she waved them out the door. Only when they were in the car did John speak to Sherlock.

"She is absolutely amazing," He said, half to himself as Sherlock put the car in gear. "She faked her own death and Charley said that she's only _seven. _She's seven years old, Sherlock, and she already reminds me of you." John continued.

"Felicity is a gifted child," Sherlock agreed, his heart bursting with irrational pride for his new friend. He was no longer afraid of Felicity turning out like himself; to the contrary, he _wanted _her to. He wanted her to be confident and smart and happy, and he was prepared to help her get there.

"Did you talk with her about it?" John asked nonchalantly, referencing her problem with bullying without actually saying it. When Sherlock raised an eyebrow in his direction, hoping that John would let it go, John rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete dolt, Sherlock." John said, and Sherlock's grip tightened briefly on the steering wheel. He knew that John was a lot more pensive than he seemed, but he never thought that he would be able to pick up on something like this.

"I tried to offer her some advice." Sherlock admitted finally, keeping his eyes on the road. "I _think _it went well." He added for John's benefit when he realized how cryptic he'd been.

"You think, Sherlock?" John asked, sounding half amused, half confused. It was interesting for John to see Sherlock so out of his element. The detective was always confident to the point of being arrogant, but now he was extremely unsure.

"She ended the conversation comforted, but commented that I was a sociopath." Sherlock said, and after a moment, John snorted with laughter. Sherlock sent him his best disapproving glare, but John didn't see it; he was too busy chuckling to himself.

"A girl that smart would know that you _aren't _a sociopath, Sherlock." John said once he'd calmed down. His tone was firm- Sherlock and John had been over this topic once before and Sherlock had promised to stop telling people that he was something he wasn't. He hadn't taken down that information from his website, however, and that's where Felicity got the idea in the first place.

"She said that if I was a sociopath as my website dictates then the advice I gave her must have been difficult for me to give, which it was." Sherlock said a tad defensively, and John chuckled again.

"Just because it was hard for you to give advice based from your own bad experience doesn't mean that you're a sociopath, Sherlock." John said gently. His words made Sherlock feel better, but he didn't want to talk about that 'bad experience' he had, and he could tell that John wanted to.

"You need to stop seeing your therapist, you're picking up ideas there that are dangerous." Sherlock muttered, and John just chuckled once more. They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment before Sherlock posed his question from before. "When Charley Muller was so upset when he thought that Felicity was dead…was that because of sentiment?"

"Sherlock, sometimes you are too oblivious to common sense. It worries me." John said sarcastically. "Yes, Sherlock, it was because of sentiment. Charley cares a lot about his little sister. He feels particularly sensitive about her because of what you said, she's all that he's got left. He also feels slightly guilty about not always being there for Felicity, especially because she has so many problems with bullies. If she were to die because he wasn't properly watching her it would make him feel so guilty it would break his heart." John voiced his thoughts aloud and for a moment, the car was silent.

"Like I said- stop seeing that therapist. It's definitely dangerous." Sherlock commented, yet he was secretly glad that John hadn't lectured him on not understanding the sentiment. That was one of the main reasons he felt comfortable with John; he didn't criticize him for being himself.

"Yeah, yeah. Just drive," John said, laughing again. For the rest of the car ride, Sherlock's mind was peaceful. He'd set out and accomplished something not easily done for him, and he knew that it would help Felicity a great deal. Sherlock knew that she would grow up and excel at whatever she chose. For someone who didn't like children, that made him unexpectedly proud.

**A/N: Chapter two! How did it go? I'm sorry if Sherlock seemed a little OOC- it's hard writing him as anything other than Sherlock 'I'm smarter than you' Holmes. I've always pictured him hating kids, so it's been difficult writing him this way. The stuff about the bands and the pressure points on the human body that Felicity used to fake her own death is complete garbage that I imagined and then made to seem real (at least, I thought that it would be convincing enough).**

**I probably should have mentioned that this fic takes place _before _A Study in Pink but then will move forward into The Blind Banker. Also, this isn't just a two shot. I know that the final sentence seems a bit, well, final, but the story will continue on!_  
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**Finally, lots of love and thank-you's to my beta, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr. Your input makes the story so much better, so THANK YOU again.**


	3. Chapter 3

Two months later, Sherlock found himself to be incredibly bored. He had finished what John had called 'A Study in Pink' on that damn blog of his and there was nothing to do. The skull was gone (Mrs. Hudson had taken it again), John had hidden his gun somewhere (Sherlock was too lazy to get up and find it), and John had refused to try Cluedo again after their last disaster (Sherlock still claimed that the victim was the killer). Sherlock had even hoped for a while that Mycroft would show up so that he could taunt someone _and _get a new case. However, his brother was nowhere in sight, and John was on a date with some new woman he met on the tube who was a secret green-thumb, would most likely get cancer by the time she was forty, and felt guilty because she'd just put her dad in a nursing home. The time to deduce John's newest 'love' had been enjoyable, but it had lasted for only about ten seconds. With nothing to do, his mind automatically started to drift back to drugs.

Unfortunately, John had managed to get a sniffer dog in the flat one afternoon when Sherlock was out and had found and destroyed all of his leftover cocaine and narcotics. He'd also managed to get Sherlock to try and quit smoking, so there were no cigarettes either. There was literally _nothing _in the world, much less the flat that interested Sherlock at the moment. He didn't feel like violin or breaking into John's laptop or getting up to go to St. Bart's and steal body parts. He was just _bored. _Just when he thought he was going to die from suffocating under the weight of his own mind, the doorbell rang. Sherlock almost yelled for Mrs. Hudson, being too lazy to get the door himself, but then he remembered that she was out on a date with a man who had at least three secret wives in three different countries. Sherlock liked to keep an eye on his friends, even if that meant stalking anyone who made more than thirty minutes of contact with them to find out just exactly _who _they were. John didn't know this yet, and Sherlock wanted to keep it that way.

His mind turned to the sound the doorbell had made. It wasn't really pressing and annoying, that would mean that someone who was bringing takeout was at the door. It wasn't timid either, like the times when a tourist would ring their bell hoping for directions. It wasn't any of his friends or acquaintances- they knew to either call ahead or come right up. That left only one solution- _a client. _Suddenly full of energy, Sherlock leapt up off the couch, darted around stacks of books and raced down the stairs, his dressing-gown fluttering behind him like a flag in the breeze. He pulled the door open, found no one at the same eye-level as him, so he looked down, especially when he heard a giggle. When he did look down, he found himself looking at Felicity Muller.

She hadn't changed much since the last time they'd seen each other. She was still dressed with an impeccable neatness, she still seemed to bounce with energy, and she was still the bright little girl that he found so interesting. Under the surface, however, Sherlock was pleased to see that the hidden pain and stresses from being bullied were gone, leaving her happier than before.

"You look quite ridiculous." Felicity tried to say it with a straight face, but she giggled again behind her hand as she looked Sherlock up and down. She was dressed in her school uniform and had her backpack on her shoulders. The only thing that was out of place was the fact that she wasn't in Sussex at her school; she was standing on the stoop of 221B, unaccompanied. Despite that, Sherlock was suddenly glad she was there. John would disapprove and want to call her brother, but Sherlock didn't mind in the least. This was _entertainment. _Felicity would not be boring. Sherlock reached up and made an attempt to flatten his hair, which was wildly curly from him burrowing into the couch, knowing that trying to straighten up would make Felicity giggle- and it did.

"Ah well, that's hopeless. Come in, I'm sure you've got a good reason as to why you are here, alone, and not in Sussex where you belong." Sherlock said, grinning to show her that he could care less that she wasn't in school. Felicity beamed, stepping inside. "Your eye looks much better," Sherlock commented as they climbed the stairs. It was true- the darkened splotch had faded almost completely away. Only a tinge of yellow remained here and there. Sherlock was pleased to see that he saw no other visible signs or strains due to injury on her.

"It's a lot better now," Felicity said simply, yet her tone was full of happiness. "And I think you'd be pleased to hear that my little trick worked." She added as Sherlock got the door for her, welcoming her into 221B.

"I can only imagine the reactions." Sherlock said as he took her coat and backpack, hanging them by the door on John's usual hook. Felicity giggled, face mischievous. "I hope you didn't send any of them to the hospital with heart attacks and aneurysms." He added, leading her to the kitchen and giving her a hand up to one of the bar stools so that she could sit at the height of the table. He cleared a spot that would be free of Petri dishes and test tubes as she elaborated on what happened.

"I showed up to school looking perfectly alright and I think those boys nearly went insane. I snuck up on them at recess and I could hear them panicking. Apparently three of them felt for a pulse, all of them not believing each other when they said I was dead. They think I'm a vampire now, come back from the grave to kill them. They haven't bothered me since." She said, sounding quite satisfied with herself.

"I applaud you. It was very frightening for the rest of us as well, but you pulled it off spectacularly. Tea?" Sherlock offered. He had already turned to get the mugs. When Felicity didn't reply, he turned around. She was curiously leaning towards the Petri dishes he'd moved, eyes narrowed as she surveyed the bacteria growing there.

"Is that _giardia lamblia?" _She asked, tearing her eyes off of it only to glance questioningly at Sherlock. Sherlock barely resisted the urge to smile as he turned back to finding the kettle. He didn't understand why he was so curiously fond of Felicity but he found that for once in his life, he didn't care that he didn't understand. He _enjoyed _not knowing. "Commonly found in creeks and rivers? Why do you have that, and shouldn't it be properly incubated?" She asked as Sherlock put the kettle on and sat beside her, bringing the dish back within her reach.

"Yes, it is, I have it from a case I solved awhile ago and yes, it should be. However, since I have no further use for it at the present, I'm going to study how colonies of bacteria grow and share the same space over a span of time." Sherlock explained.

"Just a span of time?" Felicity asked curiously. "No set end?"

"No, no set end to the experiment. I can't guarantee when John will get fed up with it sitting on the kitchen table and throw it away." Sherlock said, and Felicity smiled, leaning back in to study the tiny colonies of bacteria swathed across the dish. "Felicity, how did you get to London?" Sherlock asked, figuring he should at least have an excuse to tell John as to why he didn't send Felicity home straight away. In all honesty, he was very interested in finding out how she managed it. Officers would be stationed at bus stations and at the tube. If they saw her walking by herself, they would have stopped her to ask where her guardian was. Getting around them would have been tricky.

"Oh," she said, sounding slightly smug. She sat up straight again, drawing her attention away from the bacteria and back to Sherlock. "That's a long story. Where's John?" She asked, trying to deflect the question in a manner quite similar to how Sherlock would divert attention from himself. Normally, Sherlock would comment on it, trying not to grin, but her question was successful in distracting him.

"He's out on a date." Sherlock answered, hoping to keep the sour tone out of his voice. He could tell by Felicity's face that he wasn't successful, not in the slightest. "But he'll be more eager to send you home than I ever will be, so we'll need a good story to tell him when he comes back." He half warned, half suggested, and Felicity sighed, fingering her braid as if nervous- no, as if she felt guilty.

"I may have falsified a school document in order to run away from my horrid neighbor who was supposed to be watching me for the week while Charley went to do some army business." Felicity said evasively, giving Sherlock a shy smile. "Nothing interesting was happening in Sussex so I decided to take a trip to London." There was a moment where Sherlock just looked at her, secretly thrilled by her personality. He could remember frequently committing forgery when he was a child, and the memories were fond.

"Well, I hope you did a good job with the forgery." Sherlock said as the kettle whistled, and Felicity laughed out loud, half nervous and half excited. "And the acting, mind you. If your neighbor was at all suspicious the whole plan would have fallen through." He got up and poured water into their mugs to let the tea steep.

"If that wasn't my best act yet, my show of getting onto all the buses and tubes by myself definitely was. I find that I play the innocent, sweet little girl very well." Felicity said shamelessly as Sherlock got the milk and sugar. "Do you really think that John will send me home? I don't want to go." Felicity asked, sounding worried when Sherlock's back was turned. However, as he turned back around, her face was perfectly calm. She was already a brilliant actress, just like Sherlock had been. Children like Felicity learned how to hide their emotions very early on and for good reasons.

"I think I'll be able to convince him. Besides, the case-load has been lightly lately and I'm sure that he'd be glad to have the visitor. Are you planning on staying here for the whole week?" Sherlock asked, taking out his teabag and adding sugar to his tea.

"Will you have me for the whole week? I don't mean to put myself upon you." Felicity said, sounding excited and anxious at the same time.

"I would be glad to have your company." Sherlock said in the warmest tone anyone had probably ever heard him speak in. For the next two hours he let her run experiments in the kitchen as he hastily changed the sheets on his bed and cleaned up a few of the more questionable items in his room. It was no hardship at all to give his bedroom to Felicity for the week; he barely slept anyway and if he did, he usually slept on the couch. After that, he let her go through all of the books in the flat, including John's; he didn't think that John would mind. Sherlock was aimlessly plucking at his violin, half in the flat and half in his mind when John came home. Felicity was nestled into John's armchair, stacks of books nearly concealing her as she read through one of John's old medical textbooks. Neither of them looked up as John came in, and John didn't see her at first because he was toeing off his shoes, looking at the ground.

"No case then?" He asked as he undid the laces. He shrugged out of his jacket and went to hang it up when he finally noticed the tiny coat and backpack that hung there instead. For a moment he paused. "Sherlock," He called him, tone half bemused and half carefully controlled. "Why are Felicity Muller's jacket and backpack hanging here?"

"Because I put them there for safekeeping." Sherlock answered and Felicity looked up and around the stacks of books blocking her from view to see John standing by the door, gesturing to her tiny black coat and backpack.

"Oh, hi, Dr. Watson!" She piped up and John flinched with surprise, nearly dropping his coat as he spun around to find the source of the happy greeting.

"Felicity? Are you in there?" He joked, peeking around the stacks of books as he hung up his coat on the next hook over. Felicity's bright eyes shone through the stacks back at him, excited that he was back and excited that she was in London with her two best friends.

"Yes, hi! I hope you don't mind that I've been breezing through your textbooks- I find them really interesting." Felicity gave him a little wave from behind a book that was almost as big as she was.

"How long have you been here?" John asked, shooting a dirty look at Sherlock who was innocently plucking his violin, not looking at him. Trust to Sherlock to not look after a kid. For all John knew, Felicity could have arrived at seven this morning after he left for work.

"Only an hour or two…I think. I don't really remember- time flies when you've got your nose in a book." She said factually, smiling sweetly at John when he gaped at her.

"Where's your brother?" John asked, sitting in Sherlock's chair so that he was across from her. Felicity started to take down the stacks of books, putting them on the floor as she worked her way out of the chair.

"He's away on army business." She said, not looking at John as she carefully lowered a stack to the floor, her face unexpectedly smooth. "He put me in my neighbors care. Considering she is the most dull-minded woman I've ever met, I told her I was going on a school function for a week, sent a fake letter of notification to Charley, had Mrs. Millan sign the 'permission slip' and then I was off to London. Please don't be angry with me." Felicity explained, turning unexpectedly round and innocent eyes on John that could melt even Mycroft's heart. John chuckled, offering Felicity a smile. He knew exactly what she was doing, and he wasn't fooled by it. Instead, he found it oddly endearing.

"You are the best little actress I've ever seen- and I live with Sherlock." He remarked, and his laughter joined Felicity's giggling as Sherlock's fingers slipped off the violin, making a nasty sound at John's joke. "Very sharp of you, Felicity, but aren't you worried about your brother finding out? I don't think this is the best place for you." John continued gently when the two of them had stopped laughing. Felicity sobered instantly.

"Mrs. Millan discourages reading and experiments. She just expects me to watch the telly. I was bored there, I was stifled there. Can I stay here for the week? _Please?" _She asked, just barely masking the begging tone to her voice.

"A- a _week?_" John spluttered. "Felicity, I'm glad that you came here, I am, but I don't think this is the safest place for you! I might be at work, Sherlock always has his thoughts and experiments and cases and who _knows _what you'll find in this flat. I don't want you getting hurt on accident. Plus, how do you expect Sherlock and I to keep a secret like this from your brother?" John added, and Felicity fixed John with such a stare that he almost looked away. It reminded him of Sherlock's icy glares far too much.

"Dr. Watson," she started calmly, clearly preparing to throw some logic his way.

"John," John corrected automatically, and she lost her train of thought for a moment in surprise. Seconds later the firm look was back. It looked more cute on her face than terrifying, but John knew that her expression wasn't a reason to dismiss what she had to say.

"John," she said clearly. "Your concern for me is misplaced. I am not a normal child- that much is obvious. I am very capable of being on my own in an environment not deemed 'safe' for a child- that is how I spend most of my time. I am not so uneducated as to hurt myself on anything 'mysterious' I find in your flat. To address your concerns on my brother, you know as well as I that he only has my well being in mind. It is much healthier for me, mentally and physically, to remain here rather than with my neighbor, her two dogs, and her chain-smoking habits." Felicity rattled off grimly.

"Felicity, to be frank with you, Sherlock and I are bachelors. We're messy. We don't eat normally- Sherlock doesn't _sleep _normally, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable." John tried a different tack. Felicity smiled at him, suddenly looking young again.

"One time I ate my own experiment, I've slept on the roof of my house, and I live alone with a man only a few years younger than you. I think I can manage here." Felicity said, giggling at the look on John's face as he processed the thought of her eating her own experiment.

"Where are you going to sleep?" He challenged. John honestly wouldn't mind if Felicity stayed with them, but he was worried about how Charley would react if he found out. He wanted it to be obvious to Charley that Felicity had been safe if her brother were to discover where Felicity had been. John was fairly confident that he and Sherlock could keep Felicity safe, but at the same time he didn't want to risk hurting her.

"I've provided accommodations for Felicity, John." Sherlock interrupted, apparently done sulking at the 'actress' comment. "You can survey the area if you wish." He continued, gesturing towards the hallway.

"No, I trust you Sherlock, at least, I trust you here. What if you get a case? You can't just leave her here at home- Mrs. Hudson isn't here so she can't look after Felicity." John said, shaking his head.

"I don't need 'looking after'." Felicity retorted icily, but neither man looked at her. Sherlock was currently staring down John with the force of a few suns.

"You can't suggest that we bring Felicity with us, Sherlock." John said, understanding what Sherlock's intense gaze meant. "Sherlock," John reprimanded when Sherlock said nothing. "The danger? The running? The staying awake for 20 hours a day? The _crime scenes?_ You can't expect that Lestrade will let her come with us. And what about Mycroft- he's been watching us like a hawk after your incident with the pills and the cabbie." John argued, trying to hold his ground against Sherlock's focused look.

"Oh, from _A Study in Pink?" _Felicity piped up brightly. "I read the whole thing online. Very interesting, that one. How lucky that some man who is a sharp shot with high morals just _happened _to be there to shoot the cabbie just in time." She said sweetly, innocently, raising her eyebrows at John when he looked at her in surprise.

"Let me take care of Lestrade and Mycroft, John. Even if I couldn't handle them by myself I have you and Felicity to win them over." Sherlock said, shooting Felicity a wink when John rubbed his forehead, exasperated. He was resigned to the fact that he was outnumbered and would probably lose this argument, but he had to try and win it for sanity's sake.

"What about the danger?" John pressed again. "You can't pretend that we don't go dashing around far faster than Felicity can run. In our last case I _shot _someone for goodness sake."

"Felicity, what do you do in case of an emergency?" Sherlock asked slyly, looking to Felicity. She rolled her eyes, her face going slack as if she'd been brainwashed.

"If the situation is appropriate, I hide. If not, I attack. If the probability of that succeeding is very low, I run and call 999 like a good little girl." Felicity recited, sounding bored.

"Attack?" John repeated, shocked.

"Oh, yes." Felicity said conversationally. "Charley trained me when I first started having problems with bullies. I'm rather ineffective on people larger than me, but I'm fairly accurate on those my own size. Why do you think my punch was so accurate from before?" Felicity smiled at John's surprise. John could clearly remember the satisfying _crunch _as Felicity had punched the bully right in the nose. Suddenly, it made sense.

"You see? Felicity is perfectly capable of handling herself and the both of us. I think she would make an excellent colleague and observer if a new case arises. If not, we have plenty of experiments going to keep us busy well through the week." Sherlock said dismissively, his tone leaving no room for discussion. John paused, looking between his flat-mate and the little girl who had (quite obviously to John, anyway) stolen his heart. He knew it would be useless arguing and he wasn't about to try and get a hold of Charley or the neighbor.

"Fine," John sighed in defeat. "But we're going to be really careful, _alright? _Promise?" John ordered, chuckling slightly when Felicity nearly bounced out of the armchair to hug his legs.

"I promise." She said sincerely, letting go. "I value your opinion as a doctor and an adult that I trust and I will listen to you and Sherlock regardless of if the current situation is dangerous or unsatisfactory for someone of my age."

"That answer makes me feel better." John said, trying not to laugh at her severe solemnness. "Now, when was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday." Felicity said, wrinkling her nose. "Mrs. Millan made some nasty sort of pasta-salad to last us a few days and I was fairly sure that the mayonnaise she used was expired." She explained simply as John scoffed in disbelief.

"Come on, then," John said, steering her into the kitchen. Once the two of them had settled down over toast and jam, they got into a long conversation about John's medical textbooks, going into anatomy, biology and chemistry. Sherlock took that time to check his website and then his email. He wanted a case even more now than he did before. He wanted to show Felicity how having a mind like hers was a gift, it was _fun _even. If Sherlock admitted it to himself, he also wanted to show off just a little. Felicity was a genius, but she didn't let on that your conversation was boring her or that she'd seen a skill just like yours a million times before. She listened whole-heartedly every chance she had. Upon checking his email, Sherlock found an email from an old schoolmate. He despised the man, but he was proposing a relatively easy case. John and Felicity probably would have chatted all day if not for Sherlock getting up suddenly and going for his coat, eager to go and get the case started.

"I need to go to the bank. Coming?" He asked briskly, straightening the lapels of his coat, trying to keep his childlike excitement from showing on his face.

"Is it a case?" John asked without missing a beat. Sherlock gave a nod and Felicity slid off of her stool, instantly thrilled. John stood up too, looking cautious. "Did Lestrade text you?" He pressed, his cautious nature halting at the idea of taking Felicity to a crime scene where there would most likely be a dead body.

"No, this case was received via email from a client. Lestrade is not involved; there are no bodies, no gore, and no violence. Just a break in at a bank." Sherlock said in a disparaging tone. "Here," Sherlock said, taking Felicity's coat off the hook for her considering it was at least four feet above her head. He helped her into it with all the tenderness of a father, something that made John's eyebrows rise.

"Let's be careful, though. I know that you are extremely mature, Felicity, but think of me as your stand in brother. I'm just trying to keep you safe." John said as she bounced down the steps, for once showing just how much of a child she still was. Her long red braid made a light stripe against the dark tweed of her coat.

"I understand, John. At least, I'll try to." Felicity said seriously as John locked the door, Sherlock already hailing a taxi. "If we are being careful, we'll have to make up a good story as to why I'm traveling with you. We can't just say that I'm an observer." Felicity said thoughtfully as the taxi pulled away. She was sitting in the tiny middle seat between her two friends, trying not to show how utterly _thrilled _she was. She was on a case!

"You can be my niece, if you like. Family connections always seem safer and more logical to outsiders." Sherlock said, looking down at the little girl sitting next to him in the cab. Her feet didn't even touch the floor and she was peeking out past the two men beside her excitedly to watch London going by. However, she turned from the view, distracted, to look up at Sherlock.

"Won't they think it's odd that you are brunette and I'm a redhead? Relations often look the same." She said, brow crinkling a little in confusion.

"Relatives by marriage, not by blood, will do I think. Besides, I suspect that once we arrive at the scene I will give most observers something else to think about, as will you." Sherlock said briskly.

"I think he's right. Just put on your acting shoes like you did with me and they won't stand a chance." John said, and Felicity grinned, drumming her heels lightly against the seat in anticipation.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: There you have it! The Blind Banker is in full effect! Is Sherlock too OOC? I'm so worried about that AGH :/ **

**I still don't own ACD's original works or BBC's Sherlock**

**A million thank you's and hugs to my beta, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr! **

**Your reviews mean a lot to me, thank you all so much. **


	4. Chapter 4

When they arrived at the bank, Felicity walked in with John and Sherlock instead of running ahead like she wanted too. She hadn't been outside of Sussex very much so London was extremely fascinating to her; the people, the transportation, the general _city_ had her enthralled. Plus, she was working on a case with the brilliant man that had just become her new best friend: Sherlock Holmes. He listened, he wasn't boring, and he was the first person she'd met who was more intelligent than she was. John was right behind Sherlock on her short list of friends. He was also an excellent listener. John was a bit less exciting than Sherlock, but he reminded her a lot of her own father. He was exceedingly kind and his personality seemed to shine at her like no other adult's had before.

As they walked into the bank, Felicity noted the ticker tapes showing how stocks were doing, trading times, who was in to trade from what part of the world. The bank was one of the biggest buildings she had ever been in, so there was a lot to take in. It was all very busy yet she missed nothing. Sherlock walked right up to the counter and announced his name. After the secretary put in the notice to Sebastian, she noticed the little girl standing innocently by Sherlock's leg- making it to barely his thigh. "Well, hello there! Who might you be?" She asked curiously. A child that small and innocent looked so out of place with a man as intimidating as the one in front of her that the secretary didn't know what to make of it.

"I'm Felicity Muller, nice to meet you." Felicity said, slipping on her acting shoes as John had suggested. She let her tone be more childish as she stood on her tippy-toes to thrust her hand in the secretary's direction. The woman shook her hand, smiling warmly as other clients at the bank openly stared at the little girl and the two men with her. Before the secretary could comment on how 'cute' Felicity was, another receptionist took them into the interior of the bank to wait in a room outside of a high-end office. Felicity instantly charmed Sebastian's personal secretary (a rather nice woman named Amanda) and chatted with her about the most ridiculous things until Sebastian was ready for them.

"Sherlock, good to see you again." Sebastian said, his demeanor coming off a bit slimy as he shook Sherlock's hand.

"Sebastian this is my friend, John Watson." Sherlock introduced John first and the two men shook hands. "And this is my niece, Felicity." Sherlock said, gesturing down lower to Felicity. Felicity gave Sebastian her best little girl smile, grinning hugely at him. Sebastian blinked at her, his fake attitude sliding right off.

"Hi!" Felicity piped up, and he chuckled, looking at Sherlock in confusion and disbelief.

"I didn't know you had a niece." Sebastian said, looking back down at Felicity as if he had never seen anything like her. "Hello there," he said to her, suddenly awkward. He had been prepared to deal with the 'freaky' nature Sherlock Holmes and had received such a warm welcome from his niece that he was thrown for a loop. "Why don't you all come in and sit down- I can get another chair for Felicity." After a moment of rearranging and getting a leg up to her chair, Felicity, Sherlock and John were situated in front of Sebastian's desk. "Is it alright if we discuss things now?" Sebastian asked, awkwardly trying to insinuate that it wasn't proper to speak of crimes in front of a little girl.

"It is perfectly acceptable." Sherlock said coolly, giving Sebastian an intimidating stare. Felicity gave Sebastian a reassuring smile next to him, her tiny feet dangling far above the floor. The effect was odd, but it worked. Something about that sweet, young face looking at Sebastian melted his heart.

"We've had a break in. Nothing was taken, but the burglar left a message in one of our offices. If you can find out how he got in and what the message means, we'll pay you six figures." Sebastian summed it up quickly, swallowing the jabs he wanted to shoot at Sherlock for acts done long ago. Their rivalry and Sebastian's need for revenge seemed very…_childish _now.

"I don't need a monetary incentive, Sebastian. Show me the office," Sherlock commanded, standing up. He was in his deducing mode now- everything else was secondary.

"Yes, of course." Sebastian said, and led the way out. John helped Felicity down from her seat and the two of them followed. Sebastian led them into another high end office and gestured to the paint on the wall before leading them over to a computer to show them how it took the burglar only sixty seconds to make it in and out. Sherlock took pictures of the strange symbols, went out onto the balcony, darted around the office like a maniac, and asked only two more questions before saying they could leave. Felicity charmed all of the staff on the way out, making their leave quick and painless. Once the three of them had made it out of the bank and were in the back of a taxi, Sherlock spoke.

"What did you see, Felicity?" He asked, and Felicity looked up at him shyly. She hadn't been expecting that at all; no one had ever valued her opinion and openly asked for it before.

"Nothing, I'm sure," she said quietly. If she was honest with herself, she'd been slightly intimidated by how Sherlock Holmes changed when he was on a case; it was almost unnatural. He had a power that stunned Felicity, and she knew instantly that she was way over her head. In her mind, she was nowhere near the equal of Mr. Holmes.

"Oh, come off it," John snorted. "I saw how interested you were. You must know something," he continued, and Felicity flushed slightly at his comment. John's words carried weight though, and struck a chord within her. If John, a man who lived with Sherlock could handle him, she could put forth her best effort, at least. Besides, these two men were her friends. They wouldn't judge her for being herself.

"Well, I know you're looking for someone from China." She started, glancing up at the sleuth. Sherlock smiled encouragingly; he was extremely happy that she had come to the same conclusion that he did. It made him wonder if she'd come by that the same way he had; by discovering where the message could be seen and then finding the office of Van Coon, the trader from Hong Kong. However, what Felicity said next was _not _what he expected. "The symbols in the office were Hang Zhou." She said shyly, as if she expected him to already know that.

"What?" Sherlock asked, for once completely derailed. He never thought that he'd stoop to such a _pedestrian _level and use such awful grammar, but her words were so surprising that it took him a minute to process them. The symbols were completely foreign to him- how did _Felicity _know what they were? "Hang Zhou?" Sherlock repeated, feeling a thrum of excitement start in him when a case got particularly interesting. Felicity looked at him in confusion, missing the complete look of bewilderment on John's face.

"Yes, the number system." She elaborated, and that's when it hit Sherlock. When he'd first met her she'd been punched because of a recitation, one that she'd started even in front of Sherlock. _"I'm reciting numbers in ancient languages up to 1,000."_ Felicity had told him. Of course she would recognize something she had memorized.

"Your recitation," Sherlock said out loud, putting the pieces together. "A recitation, John, is when memorized pieces of data are repeated orally for a multitude of reasons. You've often heard me reciting the periodic table by atomic number and mass- Felicity was last studying numbers in ancient languages." Sherlock filled in John, his excitement starting to cloud his tone. "You know the code." He said to Felicity, absolutely thrilled. It had occurred to him that it was a bit convenient that Felicity had been reciting that topic and was in London during a case that involved said topic, but he immediately dispelled the idea that she was involved- the break in happened last night, when Felicity was still in Sussex. "What numbers were in the bank?" Sherlock asked, reaching for his phone to recall the pictures. He needn't have bothered.

"One and fifteen. The slash is a one, the squiggle was fifteen." She answered instantly.

"Does Hang Zhou only represent numbers?" Sherlock asked, and Felicity nodded. "Those numbers must have meant something then. Considering they were visible only from the office of Van Coon," he flashed the name tag he'd taken off the door, "we are now en route to find who the message was for."

"If we find who it was meant for, he can tell us what it means. Brilliant," John caught up, beaming at his two companions. It was one thing seeing Sherlock's intellect on display 24/7, but seeing it from a child was a new experience. It also helped that she completely surprised Sherlock by knowing something he didn't. It was a once in a lifetime incident and John had been there to see it. "And may I say, Felicity, that you are quite the charmer," he added, and Felicity giggled, a new flush racing up her cheeks.

They spent the rest of the taxi ride discussing Hang Zhou. Felicity was more than happy to oblige every question and request from both Sherlock and John. She filled them in on how the system was founded, how old it was, what the numbers were used for, and how the numbers existed today. By the time they arrived at Van Coon's apartment, both men were significantly more informed when it came to the Chinese number system. John paid the driver and then they were standing in front of the apartment building, Sherlock ringing Van Coon excessively. "He's not home then," John said after the tenth ring. "Should we just take a kip here until he gets back?"

"No," Sherlock said, examining the paneling that held the names of every flat in the building. "The flat above just moved in," he noted, tone thoughtful as he threw together a plan. "John, you're my life partner. Felicity, you are our daughter and you just hurt your foot. We are getting into that flat." Sherlock muttered darkly, and buzzed the flat above.

"Hello?" A woman's voice came through the speaker.

"Oww! Oww Daddy. It hurts." Felicity whimpered, grinning at John at the same time, who was still blinking at his 'role' in Sherlock's scheme.

"Hi, hello! My daughter just hurt her foot. I was wondering if you could buzz us up so that we could take a look at it?" Sherlock said brightly into the speaker. There was a pause as Felicity sniffed convincingly.

"Of course! Come on up!" The woman said, and the door clicked open.

"Also, can I use your balcony?" Sherlock asked, dropping his bright tone as John and Felicity walked inside. Neither of them waited for Sherlock, knowing full well that he was up to something suspicious.

"Want a lift?" John asked, spreading his arms open. Felicity beamed at him and let herself be scooped up. She draped her head on John's shoulder and practiced some convincing sniffles as Sherlock joined them in the elevator. He looked at his blogger and Felicity, amused at how quickly the absorbed themselves into his game. When the elevator dinged, a woman was waiting. She was young- maybe around thirty. She had a first aid kit in hand. Once they got past the annoying introductions (Felicity really was handy when it came to distracting people), she let Sherlock out onto the balcony. While Felicity faked pain at John rotating her foot in various directions, Felicity kept one eye on the balcony and had to fight down a smile when Sherlock vaulted off of it to land in Van Coon's. John finished up very quickly with the woman, saying that he'd just carry Felicity home and gave her a big thanks for all her help. Felicity could tell that John liked this woman very much, but because Sherlock had introduced him as his 'life-partner', flirting would be out of the question. It made her fight down giggles until she and John were standing in front of Van Coon's flat, waiting for Sherlock to open the door.

"Sherlock, come on, open up in there." John said after knocking for the fifth time. Almost immediately after, the door swung open, revealing Sherlock. His face was alight with excitement.

"Van Coon is dead," he said, beaming as if he were a child at Christmas. "Those symbols in his office were a threat, a message. This was murder."

"He's in his flat?" John asked, looking shocked. "Ok, right, we'll wait right out here while you call the police." he said firmly, putting a hand on Felicity shoulder when she leaned forward, peeking past the space between Sherlock's leg and the door.

"Why can't I see?" Felicity asked with true innocence, looking up at John with big brown eyes. He had to remind himself that she was still a child, a child that was _very _good at acting. Despite his initial suspicion, he could tell that Felicity truly didn't understand why John was hesitant to let her see. It was an odd perk he was used to dealing with when he worked with Sherlock. Geniuses like them didn't seem to understand some basic common sense, and that was something John would never quite grasp. He'd thought that with great intelligence came with common knowledge and sense, but now he believed the exact opposite; that the smarter you were the more clueless you were to social norms.

"Because it's a dead body, Felicity, and you are seven. I can't let you see something like that, even if you are a lot more mature than your age." John replied, and Felicity frowned, thinking about his answer. "Would Charley want you to see something like this?" John asked, and Felicity sighed, giving in.

"Oh, alright. You'll have to explain it all to me later." She told Sherlock, sitting against the wall by the door, smoothing her school uniform as she did so. Sherlock instantly went back into the flat, digging out his cell phone on the way. John sat next to Felicity, stretching his leg out with a sigh. John waited outside with her even when the cops arrived. He didn't once leave her by herself- and for that, Felicity was grateful. She had been struck by a nagging suspicion that John didn't want her to go into the flat because he didn't want her with them, but that ridiculous notion as quickly squashed. When Sherlock finally left Van Coon's flat, the three of them went back to 221B. The entire ride back Felicity pestered Sherlock with questions about the scene, the flat, the state of the body, evidence around the body, etc. Usually, when John did this, Sherlock demanded silence so that he could think, or go to his mind palace. This time, he answered every question and even asked questions back to Felicity. John could see the change in his expressions when Felicity answered the questions and asked ones that he wouldn't have begun to deem relevant- and yet Sherlock seemed to perk up more and more.

Maybe it was because Sherlock was such a child himself, or maybe it was because he actually cared about this little girl. Either way, John had a feeling that it was going to be one wild week with the two of them together on a case.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Eeep it's so short; sorry! The next few chapters will be much longer. ****Is it really unbelievable that Felicity knew what the symbols were? I mentioned in the first chapter that she was reciting ancient numbers (I was trying to give sneaky foreshadowing hints like Moffat, but maybe I failed in that regard), but if it seemed really sudden that Felicity knew what they were, I'm sorry. ****There is more case-fic goodness to come, though, so stay tuned!**

**Hugs and butterfly kisses to louisuperwholocked on Tumblr for being a beta-goddess. :D**

**(P.S. If you want a look into my crazy head, my Tumblr URL is bitchinblackframedglasses.)**

**Thank you all for your reviews- they mean the world to me. **


	5. Chapter 5

When the three of them returned to 221B, John instantly went to make tea. It helped him think, especially when he had to keep up with two overly excited geniuses. "Those numbers, a one and a fifteen. They represent something else." Sherlock said, settling down on the couch in his usual position, fingertips resting on his chin almost in prayer as he stared at the ceiling. Felicity, on the other hand, settled down cross legged on the floor in what looked like the classic 'meditation' pose. Her braid hung perfectly down the center of the back as she sat up in what looked like a painfully straight manner, her eyes fixed on the wallpaper as she started to think.

"Were they instructions? Something to do with the stock exchanges, maybe?" John thought out loud, sitting in his arm chair to watch the two with fond fascination. Usually, one little prompt got Sherlock going for hours and that was John's main intention in speaking. He knew that he would be pretty much useless for the next few hours; he had ideas, but they were always fifty paces behind Sherlock's if not completely wrong. However, if he could help Sherlock think faster, then by all means he was willing to help.

"The symbols were a threat- remember the origami flower, John. It was a message, a warning, not a business proposition." Sherlock reminded him, tone surprisingly calm. It would have been very like him to snap at John, but he didn't. He must have been on his best behavior. John mentally praised the effect of Felicity's presence on Sherlock. She really was good for him, and John was suddenly very glad that she was there.

"Cryptography, maybe? It would be a very short message, but it could have had personal meaning for Van Coon." Felicity mused so quietly John almost didn't catch it. Her eyes were closed now, her reddish brown lashes almost resting on her cheeks. "No," she disagreed with herself after a moment. John looked away from her to see Sherlock looking at her with fascination on his face, apparently not at all bothered with the fact that she'd stopped his thought process, which was usually a deadly offense.

"Why not? That makes sense to me," John said, and a ghost of a smile crossed Felicity's face in response to his question, bust she kept her eyes closed.

"If the numbers were meant to be used in cryptography, they would have been posted in the standardized number system, not with Chinese symbols. The type of cryptography that would be applied to such a short message is a modern math practice and would not be applied to ancient numbers." She said in that same, soft voice, almost as if she was in a trance. Sherlock knew she was in her mind-skyscraper, flicking through possibilities, through data she had on hand. It made him inexplicably happy. "It's a code, then. Decode the numbers, find the message. The message is a threat, tied into Chinese culture, _ancient _Chinese culture. A society then? A gang? But what would they want with Van Coon?" Her brow furrowed as she continued to murmur under her breath, trying to understand.

"Money? He did trade exclusively with Hong Kong." John said, glancing at Sherlock for confirmation. Sherlock had a crooked grin on his face as he watched Felicity deconstruct their puzzle, a strangely proud expression in his eyes. It was like watching a father watch their child make a major milestone in their life, like learning how to walk or tying their shoes for the first time. The expression seemed to fit on Sherlock's face, making the whole situation even more odd to John.

"It's part of the equation, but I don't think it comes from stocks. Too modern." Sherlock said, getting up and going for his laptop, skirting around Felicity to avoid bothering her.

"From what then?" John said, confused, knowing that the answer was probably right in front of him. He just couldn't see a connection to money and ancient Chinese culture. Was Sherlock referring to old Chinese money?

"Van Coon returned recently from China," Felicity almost whispered. "He did something there to earn the threat- but what?" She opened her eyes slowly and then blinked a few times, blushing when she noticed that John was openly watching her, looking amazed. "Is being a detective always like this?" She asked, standing up and glancing at Sherlock as his eyes whizzed over his computer.

"Like what?" Sherlock prompted, not looking up, his mind only half paying attention to her. It took him very little time to figure out his own theory into what happened and he was now doing research to back up that theory. However, since he was _Sherlock Holmes, _he tended to be 98.2% right the first time and the research was nominal backup.

"It's so…exhilarating. It's fun." Felicity said, sounding almost confused as she put a label on what she thought about Sherlock's profession and the mystery right in front of her nose. Sherlock was jerked back to focus on her completely at her comment and he practically beamed at her over the top of his laptop. A smile spread over her face in response to the obviously happy and pleased expression on Sherlock's. "But I have more thinking to do." Felicity seemed to remind herself, and she settled back down, smoothing her skirt before assuming her previous position. In seconds she was gone again, a half smile lingering on her face from Sherlock's approval of her thoughts on the subject.

"It worries me that it took her that long to realize that it is possible to have fun." John told Sherlock in an undertone, looking over the detective's shoulder. Sherlock was researching old Chinese societies in an online book. He looked up at John, the happiness leaving his face. He glanced at the motionless little girl again and seemed to swallow, just once.

"When I was her age it was very hard for me to have fun, especially with other people. It is difficult to keep a mind of her size entertained whilst keeping company that contributes to the exercise. I can understand her confusion." He admitted, looking away from John as he did so.

"Maybe it's a good thing that she's here." John said, half to himself. He settled down in his armchair, careful not to disturb Felicity with his footfalls.

"Yes," Sherlock said absentmindedly, his mind no longer on the case. He was now trying to recall positive childhood memories, memories where he was having fun. His mental search through the database of his memories was coming up empty, for the most part. He could remember horse-back riding lessons with Mycroft (always enjoyable), but he'd only been amused at his brother's expense. When he had played pirate was fun, certainly, but the game was so lonely and based so much on fantasy that Sherlock couldn't call it 'fun'. It was more like a desperate dream to find a new world where he _could _have fun. Frowning, he gazed at Felicity. Should he encourage her to pursue something she found fun so early on, or should he dissuade her from joining in a profession where most people found you to be a freak? He knew that it would ultimately be her decision, but his words and actions would hold great sway over Felicity, especially because it was obvious to him that Felicity counted John and himself as some of her only friends. He didn't want to crush her when she was just starting to grow.

Felicity eventually emerged from her mind skyscraper, unwilling to admit that she had taken the time to do something other than think about the case. Instead, she had been creating three more floors to her rapidly growing skyscraper. The first one she created was in the section of the skyscraper she had devoted to 'Places'. It took up about a hundred floors. Some floors were mostly empty, containing only a few facts. Some, on the other hand, were stuffed full of minute and exact details of just about everything. In that section she placed a new floor dedicated to the city of London. It was slightly embarrassing that she hadn't had one beforehand, but because of her situation with Charley the two of them hardly ever traveled. She'd read about the city, but that information had gone into the floor devoted to England because it was too insignificant and not unique enough to get its own floor. Now she had a large wealth of information on the subject, and it needed to be stored before it was forgotten. Into the floor went pictures, sensations, smells, road maps, layouts, architecture, people, anything. She had to adjust the size and organize a few things, but the first room on London was finished rather quickly once she got all the information into one place.

The next room was for John Watson. This kind, patient army doctor had more than earned his place to be recognized. He cared for her well-being, didn't treat her like a child, and didn't look down on her for being smart. He was a treasure trove of information when it came to anatomy; his experiences as a doctor made him invaluable to any sort of question about the human body and how it worked. John was also a soldier, like her brother. While her brother had provided her with the knowledge about the military and its functions, John gave her more accurate information about higher ranking officers, how wounds affected soldiers, and how being in the military affected your everyday mannerisms and life. Charley never brought the war home with him whereas John _lived _the war every day. His mannerisms, his expressions, his never ending coolness under pressure- it was all fascinating to Felicity. John was also her reminder to be a bit more normal. He was a grounding, gentle presence that made her want to curl up in one of his jumpers and eat jam with him instead of studying the theory of relativity. John was nice, sweet, and like a father to her. She already loved him. His floor went down towards the bottom of the skyscraper. Her 'People' section came first in the structure itself, but the most important people in her life were represented in the first few floors. Charley was obviously number 1, followed closely by the memories of her parents. A nice teacher was spliced here or there, but there were no friends there until she put in the floor for John.

Right below John's floor was one for Sherlock. The man made her mind go into overdrive, and she _loved _it. He stimulated such thought in her that she loved his presence. Sherlock was brilliant, quick, and always nice to her, even when he was presenting her with a challenge. He was refined, like she was, and was the only person she had ever met who was more than her intellectual equal. His job inspired her. _He _inspired her. Sherlock was a friend, a guide, and a mentor. He always listened and never shot her down; he was letting her stay with him for a whole week. Sherlock was a friend, someone she had admitted feelings to without being crushed in return. She could trust him, and that's where his role as a guide came in. He was a role model for her, an example that things _did _get better. He was guiding her through the horrible sense of not belonging anywhere and showing her that things would be alright in the end. Sherlock was proof that her mind was not a punishment and wasn't anything to be ashamed of. No one had been able to do that for her before, and because Sherlock could, he was very special to her. His advice had struck a chord deep inside her and she loved her new change of heart. Finally, he was most obviously a mentor. By having her accompany him on this latest case, she got to see a job that interested her. Sherlock had prodded her in the right direction, showed her what evidence to look for and what questions to ask. He was like a father figure, but he wasn't necessarily the perfect fit for the stereotypical father role. She would rely on him like he was her father, trust him like he was her father, and probably love him just as much.

Felicity stood up, ignoring how her knees made cricking sounds as the joints straightened after being bent for so long. She was very pleased with her progress on the case (considering she had very little data) along with her organization in her skyscraper. Now that she was free for interaction, she was curious to see what John and Sherlock were doing. She wanted to observe how they solved cases so that she could someday do it on her own.

John was sitting calmly in his armchair, sipping at his cup of tea as he watched Sherlock research furiously on John's laptop, eyes darting around the screen. John seemed very at ease, very patient. He had an almost fond expression on his face as he watched his flat-mate and friend crack another case. It appeared to Felicity that John did very little during this pivotal period in a case. John was important, not to be overlooked in any way, but when it came to doing the deep, incredibly complex thinking, that was Sherlock's department. And thinking Sherlock was; Felicity could practically envision a machine to replace Sherlock's grey matter as he thought and researched furiously, oblivious to the outside world. At some point, Sherlock would find some data that would fit with a deduction and a theory in his head and then _boom, _he'd be off to investigate, to solve the case. The idea sent shivers of excitement up Felicity's spine.

While Sherlock worked, Felicity and John curled up on the couch together to watch telly. Felicity wanted to pester Sherlock with more questions and watch every step of his research, but she knew that doing so would slow him down at a time when they couldn't afford any delays. She wanted to learn, but Sherlock needed to work. To stop herself from hovering in an annoying fashion, she stayed on the couch with John, drinking tea and watching reruns of _Doctor Who. _

From where she was half sprawled, half curled up on John's chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart under her ear, which was nice; it reminded her of the nights were she would do the same thing with Charley. The longer they sat through boring commercials, the more her mind wandered. She wondered what John and Sherlock were like as kids. She wondered how they ever learned to trust and love each other (because in her mind, two people who were best friends and accepted each other unconditionally loved each other). Deep down inside, she hoped that she would be allowed into the friendship that John and Sherlock shared- Felicity wanted that more than anything. Daydreams of solving cases with her two best-friends started to lull her into sleep. She got so drowsy curled up next to John that she almost missed him going to change the channel. "Wait- what are you doing?" Felicity asked, looking up at John and plucking the remote from his fingers.

"All the reruns are old. I thought these were from more recent episodes. I mean, look, for god's sake that's the fourth doctor." John said, gesturing to the TV. Felicity sat up a bit, affronted that John would dismiss her favorite doctor so easily.

"What's wrong with the fourth doctor?" Felicity demanded, scoffing when John wrinkled his nose.

"He's weird," John complained, and Felicity gaped at him. "Come on, Felicity! How can you like that-?"

"How can you _not _like the fourth doctor? The scarf? Sarah-Jane? Is all that brilliance lost on you?" Felicity talked over him, ignoring how Sherlock shot them a dirty look for being loud. While Sherlock represented work and unparalleled mental prowess in Felicity's life, John was definitely the human part, the more relax side. She enjoyed both immensely but couldn't focus on Sherlock right then. John was insulting her favorite doctor!

"Felicity, nine is much better, he really is." John said earnestly, and Felicity rolled her eyes.

"What, with his big ears and-,"

"He has Rose, one of the best companions-!"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you- would you like a jelly baby?"

"Felicity- seriously, come on-"

"Shut up, K-9!" Felicity insisted, starting to giggle uncontrollably at the frustration on John's face. Every time he tried to speak she interrupted with a reference from the fourth doctor.

"No! The ninth doctor is _fantastic!" _John shot back, starting to chuckle himself.

"How could you possibly think-!" Felicity started, but Sherlock cut her off.

"Honestly, is it so hard for the two of you to be quiet?" he snapped, exasperated, shutting his laptop. "Your interrupting my research on Chinese artifacts sold at auction!" He looked very close to sulking, as if he would never work again thanks to this recent interruption.

"If you don't stop wallowing in self-pity; I'll bite your nose." Felicity managed to say with a straight face, only bursting into giggles at Sherlock's expression as he processed what she'd said. His half angry half incredulous look was just too much, especially because he couldn't appreciate the _Doctor Who _reference. John joined in, unable not to laugh when Felicity was laughing. In the end, both of them were gasping and wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, ignoring the sulking and scowling detective.

"Right, ok, dinner time. Who's up for take-away?" John asked, getting up and going into the kitchen for the menus. Sherlock grunted, turning his face away. He wouldn't admit it, but he was slightly jealous of the banter going on between Felicity and John. It was annoying at all, if anything, it made Sherlock feel out of place because for once in his life, he couldn't join in. He had never been good at social interactions, at letting himself relax and be himself when he wasn't working. He wanted to banter with Felicity about nonsensical things and Sherlock had _never _wanted to be nonsensical in his entire life.

"Ooh, me! How about-," Felicity suddenly stopped talking, freezing where she was half risen from the couch in her attempt to follow John. Sherlock's words flashed through her mind; _Chinese artifacts sold at auction. _Why was that important? How did that pertain to the case? Her mind ran through several possibilities, calculating the probability of each theory being correct at the same time. She wanted to know why he was searching for ancient Chinese artifacts, but she wanted to figure it out herself. There had to be connections somewhere…

"Felicity?" John asked curiously, sticking his head around the kitchen doorframe to investigate what had made her stop talking so quickly. Her eyes were slightly far away as she stared at the television without seeing it. Sherlock instantly recognized that she was thinking- she'd just received a new idea and had to process it before she did anything else. Those moments were a bit unfortunate at times (you had to stop what you were doing right away to calculate), but the time taken to think was always beneficial. It made him proud that Felicity was having those moments; it meant that she was learning and growing at an incredible rate.

"_OH!" _Felicity let out in a long breath, blinking a few times as she narrowed her ideas down to two. Because she hadn't been in the victim's flats, she couldn't be sure if they were killed for a hobby or something more sinister. The fact that she'd narrowed it down to two possibilities made her very excited, however. She wondered if this was how Sherlock solved his puzzles; if she was starting to become more like her idol. _"_Sorry, yes, never mind." Felicity jumped to her feet, shooting John and Sherlock a bright smile, acting as if she hadn't just frozen for a few seconds. Her ideas were interesting, but they were now safely stored away in her skyscraper for later revision and musing. Now was not the time to continue- it would take her a while to form new conjectures.

"Felicity, are you ok?" John asked, still worried. Felicity waved a hand dismissively. If John didn't know better, he would have thought that Felicity was exhibiting symptoms of a seizure. He didn't like the coil of unease and worry that had appeared in his gut; his protective nature of Felicity was rearing its ugly head and with nothing to focus it on, the feeling made him want to hug her and keep her safe when his actions weren't necessary. John squashed the emotion, trying to get a grip.

"Of course! Sorry, I was just thinking about the case; won't happen again. Ooh, how about Indian food for dinner? I love it but Charley hates it so I never get to have any." She changed the subject so fast that John didn't have time to think about her response to his previous question. He figured that Felicity wouldn't hide anything that was life-threatening or incredibly important, so he decided to do as she wanted and ignore it.

"Indian sounds lovely. Sherlock? What about you?" John prompted, glancing at the detective, who sent him a stern eye roll in return.

"I don't eat on cases, John." Sherlock reminded him in an 'everyone loves to discredit and annoy me' sort of voice. John sent him a look, trying to mentally tell his flatmate that he needed to set a good example for Felicity. It was obvious that Felicity was learning a lot from the detective, and John didn't want her to pick up Sherlock's atrocious eating habits as well. Turns out, John needn't have bothered.

"He'll have the Tandoori chicken," Felicity said artlessly, walking into the kitchen to follow John, stretching lightly as she did so.

"What? How did you know- that's all he'll eat when I make him eat takeaway!" John spluttered, and Felicity sent him a shy but undoubtedly happy smile.

"On the menu in your hand there's a spot where the laminated covering is thinner. It's been eaten away by acid in a thumb shaped print- Sherlock most likely had gloves on while working on an experiment and gestured impatiently at the menu to tell you what takeaway dish he'd promise to eat." She rattled off with a shrug.

"Mm, bravo." Sherlock murmured to his computer screen, and a delicate flush brushed Felicity's cheeks at his compliment. "Yes, fine, the Tandoori will do." Sherlock added, along with a dismissive gesture.

"For you then, Felicity?" John asked, digging out his cell phone to place the order.

"The Malai Kofta if you wouldn't mind." She said, climbing up a bar stool to sit at the kitchen table, her eyes passing briefly over the science equipment and chemicals. John placed the order, along with chicken Tikka Masala for himself. While they waited for the takeaway to arrive, Sherlock got up off the couch and joined Felicity at the table. They prodded at the bacteria dishes, John watching with an amused expression from afar. Usually he would yell at Sherlock for not cleaning off the table when they needed it to eat on, but he found that he didn't care. Seeing Sherlock coming undone made John happy- and he wasn't about to interrupt such a good change that was occurring in the detective.

He thought back to Lestrade's comment about Sherlock one day becoming a good man and had to grin to himself as Felicity wound herself around Sherlock's leg and foot and refused to let go, forcing him to walk like a sasquatch to go and get the takeaway when it arrived, chuckling to himself the whole time. With the changes he was seeing so far, John was sure that his flatmate was well on his way to the good man that Lestrade and John knew that he could be.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: So, now you've seen a bit of character development fluffy cheesy goodness- I hope it was ok. :/ I promise that there will be good casefic action in the next chapter! It's hard to re-write the Blind Banker in a way that is true to the original plot and yet lets me work in another character without making it boring or fake. (At least, I hope that's what I've done!) I also apologize for mixing the fandoms (I had a brief Ghostbusters inspired day dream: 'DON'T CROSS THE STREAMS!'). I've never watched Doctor Who (I don't have time with school and everything) so I had to do a lot of research to hopefully get my references right. I wanted to add DW to this so BAM! Here's some Doctor Who for you. **

**Your reviews blew me away- thank you all so much! I appreciate it so SO much you have no idea. To quote Arthur Shappey, you guys are 'BRILLIANT'! If it's not too much to ask, could you guys answer me this question- would you lot kill me if I started to sneak in some johnlock-ish stuff? I don't actually ship them so I'm a bit nervous doing it but I could see how a johnlock pairing would work in this story.**

**Finally, ALL HAIL LOUISUPERWHOLOCKED THE EDITING QUEEN! You are an awesome beta. I was so alone, and I owe you so much. :')**


	6. Chapter 6

Felicity only went to bed when John insisted that she could _not _help Sherlock dissect some of his leftover stomach tissues in the fridge. She needed a step stool to reach the bathroom sink, but once her height was accommodated she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and got a boost up into Sherlock's large and mostly unused bed. John made sure that she was snugly under the covers before giving her _one _book to read (he knew that she'd finish the whole thing and want another, but she really needed to sleep) before leaving her in peace.

Felicity read for a while. Once she'd finished her book, she considered getting out of bed to explore Sherlock's room. He'd cleaned a lot for her, that much was obvious, but she wanted to see what he thought was too inappropriate for her to see. However, Felicity was also aware of how creaky and old the floorboards in his bedroom were; even if she was completely silent, getting back into bed would still make enough noise to get her caught. That left her staring around the room, cataloging details in her mind for future thinking. Eventually, her excited mind quieted and she fell asleep.

The next morning, Felicity got up very early, even before John. She padded into the living room to find Sherlock lying upside down on the couch, the blood rushing to his brain and making his usually pale face slightly flushed. "Are you alright?" she asked him, giggling slightly as he sank down even lower, his curls bouncing from the movement.

"Of course I am; I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine," Sherlock said in a slightly stiff manner as he struggled upright. He sat properly on the couch, fluffing his curls in annoyance. "I'm waiting for the next body. If Van Coon was threatened by who I think he was threatened by, there will be another body, and soon," Sherlock added for Felicity's benefit. He was strangely open to the idea of Felicity wandering around the flat, barefoot, with her usually tamed hair flying about. There was something about it that made 221B seem even more like home to him than ever before.

"That reminds me. What did Van Coon's suitcase look like? I need to know what he was doing in China and why." Felicity said, climbing up next to him. Sherlock chuckled, his fond expression masked as he helped her up. He was internally bursting with pride that Felicity was already starting to ask the right questions. He wanted her to excel, he wanted her to have fun, and her intelligence was a sure sign that she was having a good time.

"He had enough pairs of clothes for maybe three days of travel and staying in China. Also, the clothes were packed oddly, as if to pad a package he carried in his suitcase. Does that help you?" Sherlock asked, outright grinning when a look of realization passed over Felicity's face after a few seconds. Before either of them could say anything, Sherlock's phone _beeped. _He reached one long arm out to snag it off the coffee table. "Aha." He said triumphantly, and showed the phone to Felicity.

_Another body found in a locked apartment. Help? –Dimmock_

"Yay! Oh, can we go now, before John gets up? I really want to see this one, but he won't let me." Felicity half begged, half proposed as her eyes whizzed over the message from Dimmock. As much fun as Felicity had yesterday, she wanted to up the ante. She wanted to see everything, think about every possible theory; she wanted to get right into the action. Sherlock had given her a small glimpse of what his job was like yesterday and now Felicity wanted more.

"Of course I won't. It's a dead body, Felicity, and good morning to you too," John yawned as he came in, fluffing Felicity's hair on his way to the kitchen. Felicity huffed, sliding off the couch and following John, her untamed hair swirling about.

"Please, John? _Please? _I missed data when I couldn't see the last body or the apartment it was in. If I miss this one I might miss something really, really important." Felicity wheedled, treating John to the best puppy-dog-eyes he'd ever seen in his life.

"I'm your brother, remember? Would Charley let you look at dead bodies, people who have been murdered?" John prompted gently; just able to resist the adorable pleading of her gaze and only managing to do so because he put morals above wants. She may have really wanted to see the body, but John knew that it wasn't right and therefore wasn't going to give in. Felicity scowled. "Don't get too angry with me, Felicity. I'm just trying to be a voice of reason here," John said, starting to feel bad that he'd denied her. Felicity instantly brightened at his comment.

"Oh no, I'm not angry with _you, _John!" Felicity assured him quickly, giving him her sweet smile. "I'm angry with the conditions of the universe."

Both John and Sherlock chuckled as Sherlock walked into the kitchen. "Breakfast needs to be quick, John. The game is on!" Sherlock warned his flat-mate as he scooped Felicity up to help her get on top of a barstool so that she could sit at the table.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. At least you're giving me time for breakfast," John acquiesced. He made toast with jam and eggs as Sherlock quickly dressed and then insisted on taking over as the chef so that John could do the same. The two men set the table as Felicity hurriedly went back to Sherlock's room and changed out of her pajamas and into jeans and a t-shirt. She'd planned accordingly in hopes that Sherlock and John would take her in for the week, bringing all sorts of different types of clothing to help her blend into any situation. Felicity knew that there was a strong possibility of her running around the city for the rest of the day, and her school uniform would be far from appropriate. Once dressed and her flowing hair successfully tamed into pigtails, she returned to the kitchen.

Sherlock automatically reached over and picked her up, putting her back on her stool without batting an eyelid. He was drinking tea and reading the paper as John dug into his eggs. A plate with toast and eggs was waiting for her, along with a cup of tea. The sight of it made her excited; this whole day so far was making her excited! Despite that, Felicity quelled her anxiousness to _go _and promptly ate her breakfast. She finished just as quickly as John and they did the washing up together while Sherlock texted and waited impatiently. Once Felicity and John had brushed their respective teeth and were ready to leave, Sherlock practically stuffed them into their coats. "Yoohoo! Boys?" A woman knocked and entered before Sherlock could force them out the door. She was gentle, sweet, and reminded Felicity of a grandmother. "Oh, hello? Who is this?" She asked, looking down when she nearly ran into Felicity.

"Mrs. Hudson, Felicity Muller," Sherlock introduced them with a hint of what sounded an awful lot like pride in his voice as Felicity beamed up at Mrs. Hudson.

"You must be the landlady Sherlock mentioned! Hello!" Felicity said brightly, offering her a hand to shake. This wasn't her fake act to distract people, this was the real Felicity, the little girl who stole your heart within a minute of meeting her. Mrs. Hudson shook the offered little hand, looking dazzled.

"Aren't you the sweetest little thing! What are you doing with these two horrors?" Mrs. Hudson asked, glancing at Sherlock and John questioningly.

"We met her brother on a past case and he's put Felicity in our care for the week." John said calmly when Sherlock said nothing.

"I don't mean to insult you two, I really don't, but you two don't seem like the best caregivers to me! Why would her brother put her in your care?" Mrs. Hudson said slightly nervously, eying the skull grinning at her from the mantelpiece.

"You seem really nice, Mrs. Hudson. The man you're seeing doesn't deserve you at all." Felicity said suddenly, frowning as she studied Mrs. Hudson in a way not unlike Sherlock. "What kind of man has secret wives all over the globe?"

"Uh, that's why. Felicity is like Sherlock…just younger," John said hastily as Mrs. Hudson looked down at Felicity in shock, her surprise melting away under Felicity's sweet smile. "If we need help, we'll stop by, Mrs. Hudson, but we were actually just about to go out." John continued, deciding not to mention that they were going on a case; he didn't know how Mrs. Hudson would react.

"Of course! That would be just lovely, wouldn't it?" Mrs. Hudson commented, and Felicity nodded solemnly. "How old are you, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked as Felicity took her hand and walked out onto the landing and down the steps, completely missing how Sherlock beamed after her.

"I'm seven. Seven and a half, technically, but I tell people that I'm seven," Felicity said in a factual tone as she and Mrs. Hudson stopped at the door to 221A. "I'll see you later, then?" Felicity asked as John took her hand, seeing that Sherlock was inching for the door.

"Of course, dear. You keep those two in line and don't let the crime scenes get to you. Yes, I know exactly where you're going, Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson called at Sherlock's retreating figure. She gave Felicity a warm smile and a wave as they walked out the door. One taxi ride later (Sherlock and John spent the whole time wondering out loud who Felicity _couldn't _charm), the three of them arrived at their crime scene. The man who died was a freelance journalist by the surname of Lukis, who had lived on the fourth story of an apartment complex and was found dead in his apartment with all the doors and windows locked. There was an imposing man waiting for the three of them at the crime scene tape as they approached, but his grumpy look fell away to confusion as he noticed Felicity.

"Holmes, who the- who is this?" Dimmock demanded, pointing at Felicity in surprise, as if he'd never seen a little girl before. Dimmock had missed Felicity at the first crime scene because she and John had been sitting on the floor outside of Van Coon's flat. He'd also missed her because he wasn't very observant, so his surprise was magnified to see such a sweet child with Sherlock and John.

"Unimportant," Sherlock drawled, but Felicity interrupted.

"I'm Felicity Muller! You're a DI, right? Your job is super cool!" she crowed, and Dimmock blinked a few times, a smile starting to grow on his face to match the sweet one on Felicity's. He hadn't liked Sherlock before, but if this sweet girl was in his company then neither of them could be that bad, right?

"Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, Felicity," Dimmock said, shaking her hand when she offered it. "Why are you here with Sherlock?" he asked, glancing back up at the detective in question, quickly looking away from the thunderclouds building on Sherlock's face.

"He's looking after me for the day, he and John," she said, flashing her best 'I'm adorable and you know it' face back at her two guardians. "Can we go up?" She asked, ducking around his leg, observing the open doorway and the stacks of books on the stairs with a practiced eye.

"Actually…" John reined Felicity in, suddenly realizing exactly what she was doing. Flattery would get her a long way, to places that he knew that she shouldn't get in to. "I'll stay down here with Felicity while Sherlock takes a quick look." John used his authoritative army voice and Dimmock nodded, lifting the tape for Sherlock. John took Felicity's hand and gave her a look that said '_stay'. _Felicity huffed in annoyance, rolling her eyes. They waited outside for less than ten minutes before Sherlock strode out of the crime scene, expression smug. He was holding an evidence bag that held a daily planner. Sherlock hailed a cab and asked the driver to take them to West Kensington Library. Once they were all comfortably inside, he cracked open the evidence bag.

"One dead journalist recently returned from China," was all Sherlock said, taking out the planner. Felicity gasped, her whole face lighting up. "Care to guess what we're dealing with here?" he asked her, amused at her excitement.

"Smugglers?" Felicity asked biting her lip and squeezing her fists in anticipation. Sherlock looked at her for a moment, then a grin broke his face and he nodded. "YES!" Felicity crowed in delight, punching the air and giggling like a maniac. Smuggling had been one of her two theories as to why Van Coon had been murdered. Now that Lukis was dead in the same fashion, smuggling made sense; the two of them died because they worked for the same group.

"Whoa, hold on. Smugglers? From China?" John asked, half amused with Felicity and half confused as to how they'd gone from a dead writer to smugglers in the span of thirty seconds.

"Two men, recently returned from China. Both had things packed into their suitcases- that's how they brought home smuggled goods. Both men were threatened and then killed, suggesting that the smuggling ring they are working for is missing artifacts and are trying to find who has been skimming from the pile," Sherlock explained.

"So why are we going to the library?" John asked, and Sherlock chuckled.

"Van Coon was threatened with the symbols, therefore, this man had to have been threatened similarly. According to his date book, " Sherlock flipped through the pages quickly, for emphasis, "the last place he was at before returning home was at the library. We'll find more of the code there," Sherlock said confidently.

"If they were both smugglers for the same ring, where did they bring their merchandise? How did they get it to auction sites?" Felicity asked herself under her breath, staring at the floor of the taxi in concentration.

"We'll get to that. Once we find the next part of the code, you and John will follow all of the information out of this date book. I'll go back to the bank and get Van Coon's date book from his secretary. We'll cross reference each other's data to find out where the drop off was," Sherlock said as the cab came to a stop. Felicity scrambled out after him, leaving John to follow. The started by checking the areas of the library that fit best with the type of books in the dead man's flat. After a few minutes, John called them over. He had pulled away the books at his eye level to reveal two symbols spray painted onto the back of the shelf. Seeing Felicity's immediate height-problem, Sherlock scooped her up and sat her on his shoulders. She rested an arm across the top of his head for balance as she peered down at the symbols, suddenly over six feet tall.

"It's the same message- a one and then a fifteen." Felicity reported. She ruffled Sherlock's hair and he mock-growled in annoyance, his mind going a million miles an hour under the curls.

"A change of plans is in order. Look at these books," Sherlock said, gesturing to the pile John had removed. They were in the section titled 'Ancient Histories' and all the books on the floor were about Chinese artifacts. "If our victim was looking for information, we need to do the same. Come on!" Sherlock insisted, walking out with Felicity still on his shoulders, her tiny legs and feet resting on either side of his scarf. John jogged behind them, catching up when Sherlock flagged a cab.

"_Now _where are we going?" He asked as Sherlock lifted Felicity off his shoulders and lowered her back to terra firma.

"The Museum of Art. Their website has indicated a high volume of ancient Chinese artifacts moving through their auction center. If anyone knows about the smuggling ring, it would be the head of the department," Sherlock said as the cab pulled up. The three of them raced to the museum, questioned an employee about the director, Soo Lin Yao, and her mysterious disappearance. "Useless," Sherlock muttered as they left. "You two, take the victim's diary. Scan his day to day activities. I'll do the same with Van Coon's receipts and we'll find their drop off location." Sherlock ordered, calling up a taxi for them. "Text me." He ordered before the cab sped off.

John and Felicity poured over the diary, looking for suspicious locations that made sense for a drop off. It didn't take for Felicity to suggest _The Lucky Cat. _John told their driver to take them to the Chinese District of London and a few minutes and a text later, Sherlock, John and Felicity met up outside of the store_. _Felicity ducked in without a word to Sherlock or John and went over to the cashier. Felicity started a conversation with her in fluent Mandarin, even though her eyes barely made it over the counter. With the cashier out of the way, John and Sherlock were free to snoop about the shop, noting the high volume of ancient artifacts. It was clear to Sherlock that this was the drop off; there was a suitcase behind the counter with a lot of tourist-y stickers from China. Felicity gave the lady behind the counter a cheery goodbye as John came over and took her hand, clearly meaning to steer her out. The three of them left the shop. "So, _The Lucky Cat _is the drop off. Did you learn anything interesting from the cashier?" John asked Felicity. She shrugged.

"Not really. I was talking with her about tourists that come into her shop and break things. You'd be surprised about how many swearwords that woman told a little girl like me. You'd think she'd behave better." Felicity said, and then looked around. "Where's Sherlock?" She asked. John glanced around and cursed, not seeing his friend on his first pass of the street. In the time they had taken to stop and talk, he'd vanished. Sherlock had a bad habit of disappearing like this, and John didn't want to deal with his antics when he had a second genius to look after. On John's second pass, he saw the dark coat of his friend whipping around a corner. "Come on," John muttered, tightening his grip on Felicity's hand as he hurried them after the detective. John and Felicity moved through an alley, finding Sherlock at the end of it. He jumped, catching the fire escape ladder that led up to a flat and pulling it down. "Sherlock, what are you _doing?" _ John hissed, letting go of Felicity to stalk closer to Sherlock.

"Investigating," he replied, climbing up the black apparatus. Before John could follow, the ladder tilted back up to its upright position, out of John's reach.

"For the love of-" John fumed silently, cutting off a barrage of swearwords he'd learned in the army. Felicity didn't need to learn more cuss words from him.

"It's Soo Lin Yao's flat, if that helps you understand. It's more than a coincidence that she lives so close to a smuggling ring's drop off," Felicity said, and John turned. "There was a little sign by her doorbell at the front door," she continued gesturing back around the corner. John sighed, counting to ten before taking Felicity's hand again. They walked back to the front of the flat block. John rang the bell once, twice, three times while Felicity examined a long abandoned phone book by the front door. She looked up suddenly, scooted closer to the door, and pressed her ear against the wood. "Something's wrong, John," she said, sounding worried.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, knowing better than to doubt Felicity. She frowned, pressing her ear harder to the door.

"There's someone else in there. He and Sherlock are in an altercation," she continued, her voice rising along with her concern as she stood up from the door, backing away. John swore out loud this time and quickly checked the street. No one was paying much attention- tourists were held spell bound in front of shops and Chinese-European immigrants were hurrying on their way, engrossed in their own business. Risking a breaking and entering charge, John lined his shoulder up with the edge of the door and forced his way in, pulling his Browning once the movement would be masked by the door.

"Stay here, Felicity," John warned, and then entered the flat. Felicity paused by the door, fretting anxiously when she heard another, faster altercation before there was mostly silence. Seconds later, she heard someone (Sherlock, most likely) begin to hack out a cough. "Jesus, Sherlock- what the hell was that all about?" Felicity heard John exclaim.

"That was the murderer, John." Sherlock sounded extremely hoarse. "He's looking for Soo Lin Yao to kill her. We need to find out why." Ignoring John's worried and angry protests, Sherlock was suddenly in the doorway. It took Felicity seconds to see his mussed hair and clothes, to put the evidence towards a theory. Someone had been strangling Sherlock quite viciously- someone that was working for the smuggling ring. Felicity felt a pang of frustration and anger. Sherlock could have been dead on the floor because he rushed ahead and didn't include anyone else in his plan. It didn't help that she was just a child, barred from most scenes of crime because of her age. If things like this kept happening and she was unable to help, her friends might die.

"For someone so smart you're an idiot, Sherlock," she snapped, sending him a look that could freeze a lake. When Sherlock only blinked at her, surprised by her reaction, she scoffed angrily and started to walk away. John hurried after her, mindful of her safety, leaving Sherlock to follow this time. "If that wasn't a clear enough of a message for you, let me reiterate; that was a warning, Sherlock. If you do something that stupid again, you'll be dead." Felicity's tone was icy as Sherlock caught up to walk beside her. He jerked to a halt as her words sparked an idea in his head.

"Oh, brilliant. Felicity, you are a genius!" Sherlock crowed, swooping her up and spinning her around, planting a kiss on her forehead before setting her down. His mind was running a million miles an hour; symbols in yellow paint, messages, codes…

"Wow, Felicity. You insult him, tell him what to do, and he compliments you. I try to do the same thing and he belittles me. You can charm _anyone," _John marveled. Felicity smirked at his remark, but Sherlock ignored it.

"A message- a warning. There have to be messages all over the city for the smugglers, in the same graffiti style. No one would notice it among the other vandalism. If we find more of the code maybe we can break it." Sherlock said, eyes bright as he raced through the possibilities. The paint the smuggling ring was using was unique- it would stand out. With a bit of searching, the messages could easily be found.

"What about Soo Lin Yao? This smuggling ring must want her for something. Maybe she knows what the code means," Felicity questioned, her anger momentarily forgotten. Sherlock grinned down at her.

"Exactly. Soo Lin Yao is a loose end. She'll be able to read the code. We need to find symbols of value, not just a death threat, for her to decode. If she's evaded death for this long, she will avoid it until at least tonight. Once we find her, she can decode the numbers for us and give us more data," Sherlock explained in a strangely cheerful tone.

"What happens tonight?" John asked, trying to keep up.

"Soo Lin Yao won't move during the day. It's obviously too dangerous. I'm ninety seven percent certain she will return to the Museum tonight to finish her work. We'll intercept her there," Sherlock planned confidently, starting to get his voice back.

"And where do you plan on finding this so-called message?" John questioned. Sherlock's grin got even wider, if possible.

"That's the beauty of it, John! They will be in plain sight, probably on routes that our two victims would follow in their day to day life. Let's check the tube tunnels, roads near their homes and places of work, and, finally, by the railway station. There's got to be a message somewhere."

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: This was incredibly difficult to write! I didn't want to drag you through the plot line by line because I'm sure you all have seen The Blind Banker a million times but I'm worried that I breezed through this too quickly. Let me know if you are confused! I made some changes to the plot as well, just a few small things, but I'm worried that it may have confused you. Your reviews are SO nice I love all of you so much. Thank you!**

**Also, I'm still polling you guys- is everyone cool with future Johnlock goodness?**

**Regardless of that, there is more case-fic goodness (and danger!) to come! Unfortunately, you can't have it for a while. I have it written and everything but I'm getting my wisdom teeth out on Thursday. Depending on how I handle it, you may get your chapter in a few days or you may get it next week.**

**As always, lots of love to my beta, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr. You. Are. The. BEST! If you guys want to stalk, feel free to find her or me (I'm bitchinblackframedglasses). SPEAKING OF WHICH- I changed my fanfiction pen-name over to bitchinblackframedglasses because I wanted the two to be the same. I hope that didn't confuse you!**


	7. Chapter 7

John, Sherlock and Felicity investigated through the tube stations around relevant locations, checked every street, boulevard, alley, and road that were common avenues of travel in the two victim's lives and hadn't found any symbols in the graffiti by the time they were snooping around railway stations. It was about ten o'clock at night and their deadline to catch Soo Lin Yao was pushing down on them enough to prompt Sherlock to split the group up. John threw a fit when Sherlock said that Felicity could walk alone, along train tracks, at night, but by the time he'd calmed down Felicity was already half way around a corner, only visible by her vibrant red hair. The three of them wandered their separate ways for a while before John came running over, insisting that he'd found the symbols. By the time they made it back to the spot John claimed to have seen them, there was nothing but black paint.

"I don't understand," John said in despair, swiping a finger along the still wet paint in confusion. "They were right here, I swear."

"Someone doesn't want me to see," Sherlock said to himself, and then he turned on John, eyes blazing with determination. "John! Hold on to that picture in your mind- recognize the symbols. Think, concentrate!" the detective cried, clamping his hands down on either side of John's face as if he could squeeze the thought out of his head.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked, confused by the way his flat-mate and friend was spinning him around in circles, his hands pressed to the sides of his face. He was still confused, half thinking that he'd gone mad and now Sherlock was disorienting him with the spinning. It wasn't a good combination.

"John, the average human mind is only sixty two percent accurate when recalling information, especially after a traumatic situation. Just relax, and focus." Sherlock intoned, leaning closer. To him, the information pivotal to solving the case was locked in John's head and he was determined to get it out.

"Sherlock," John protested, trying to squirm out of his grip. "If you'd let me bloody well talk, I remember everything." He said, finally extracting himself out of Sherlock's grasp, blinking several times to clear the his vision from the spinning.

"What? How?" Sherlock demanded, towering over John.

"I took a picture on my mobile." John said slowly, removing the device and presenting Sherlock with the photo. Sherlock let out a puff of air that sounded suspiciously like '_Oh!' _before he took the phone, his eyes whizzing over the symbols before he turned, looking for Felicity.

"Here, take a look," he half ordered, half requested, passing the phone down to Felicity. She glanced at it and then shrugged, handing it back to Sherlock.

"It's just numbers to me. I can tell you what they are specifically, but that doesn't matter." Felicity said, and Sherlock handed John back his phone. He paced for a few moments, thinking, before stalking back the way they'd come. "I guess we're finding Soo Lin Yao now." Felicity told John cheerfully as they followed the detective over the dark rails. She was learning a lot from Sherlock about how to solve a case and she was finding his methods incredibly amusing and exciting at the same time.

"Are you getting tired, Felicity? I can take you home if you need to rest." John said, and grinned sheepishly under her suddenly furious and imposing gaze. "I'll take that as a 'no'. I just thought I'd ask. Remember- I'm your brother." John said, and they chuckled together as they caught up to Sherlock, who was impatiently flagging down a cab.

"I do appreciate it, John. Someone has to remind me to be human once and a while." Felicity said seriously as a cab pulled over and whisked them away at Sherlock's request. The ride to the museum was silent, save for Sherlock's fingers tapping rhythmically against the door of the cab. Felicity was lost in thought, trying to go through her mental database to put a name to the currently faceless 'smuggling ring'. If they were this organized and if they were operating internationally, they had to have a background, a name the world knew. Sherlock hustled them into the museum and into hiding before it closed. Once the people and guards were away for the night, Sherlock spirited them down into the storage units where Soo Lin Yao was bound to be working. True to Sherlock's idiom, he scared her rather than introducing himself like a normal person. Once they were all settled, however, and Soo Lin got a good look at the innocent little girl Sherlock had with him, she seemed to relax. She had no problem showing Sherlock the tattoo on the bottom of her foot, telling him about The Black Lotus, her history as an international smuggler, and how her own brother, Zhi Zhu, was the killer. John showed her the picture of the symbols and seconds later the normal lights were cut, leaving them in semi-darkness as the emergency power kicked in. Sherlock instantly booked it out of there, but John was more mindful.

"Fee, you and Soo Lin _stay here." _John said hastily, urging them into one of the horizontal storage spaces and almost closing the door, giving them a protected alcove. Then he darted off, Browning in hand. Felicity sat there for a moment in surprise- only Charley called her 'Fee' and it was odd hearing that from John. Once her initial surprise faded, Felicity went to the dark opening and peeked out, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. When it was clear that she wasn't going to see anything, she looked back to Soo Lin; surprised to see that the woman was crying. Felicity _never _cried and Charley wasn't the crying type either. In her whole lifetime she couldn't remember being around people who were sad enough to cry. Despite her lack of experience in that situation, Felicity went with her natural instinct to comfort.

"It'll be ok." Felicity told her softly, cuddling up against her side. Soo Lin made a noise that sounded like a laugh and a sob as she put an arm around Felicity. With her other hand, she picked up the pen and brought the sheet of paper over to her she glanced over the numbers, brow furrowed. Even in the face of harm or death she was determined to help.

"I need my book," she started, but cut herself off when she heard a noise. Fear flooded her face so fast Felicity almost felt the same emotion herself. Soo Lin whirled on the spot, looking around her, until she found a small ancient trunk among the artifacts among them. It was heavy, but Felicity would fit inside perfectly. "Go in there." Soo Lin barely breathed, prying the trunk open and gesturing inside. "Please," she begged, eyes shining with new tears when Felicity only sat there for a moment, confused by Soo Lin's action. Realization hit Felicity like a wrecking ball a few seconds later- Zhi Zhu was almost upon them and Soo Lin was going to die. Worse yet, she couldn't do anything about it; Sherlock and John weren't there to help them. Soo Lin's last act was to protect Felicity from harm- and that resonated in Felicity's mind as she struggled to find a way to keep Soo Lin alive. When she couldn't find one, she was resigned to Soo Lin's fate as well as her own.

"I'm sorry," Felicity whispered, and Soo Lin's tears streaked down her cheeks faster as she gestured frantically to the trunk. Felicity easily crawled in, and Soo Lin closed the lid, plunging Felicity into complete darkness. For a moment, there was silence. Seconds later, the storage unit creaked open. It was hard to hear in the trunk, but Felicity heard most of the conversation between Soo Lin and her brother, Zhi Zhu about honor, dishonor, and love. After a brief period of silence, there was one, frightfully loud gunshot that pierced the air and Soo Lin collapsed to the floor. Felicity closed her eyes in the trunk, trying to calm herself as the ghosting footsteps of Zhi Zhu disappeared. Felicity didn't know Soo Lin Yao; her life meant nothing to Felicity, and yet she could feel the odd, awful feeling that she was about to cry race across her senses. Determined not to, Felicity bit her tongue as footsteps raced over.

"Oh, god," Felicity heard John mutter in shock upon finding Soo Lin Yao. Slower feet joined John's- Sherlock knew that racing over was useless when Soo Lin was already dead. "Wait- oh, god, _Felicity!" _John yelled, and she could hear him whirl on the spot, trying to search in the near-darkness. Figuring she'd caught her composure, Felicity pushed on the lid of the trunk. When it didn't open, she knew that she was going to have a problem; it was heavier than she could lift.

"Felicity?!" Sherlock joined the hunt, his deep baritone permeating the air as his shoes moved down the storage unit towards her trunk. Felicity could visualize him in her mind: tall and intimidating, his bright eyes scanning the unit for clues to her disappearance.

"Come on," Felicity begged under her breath when pushing with her shoulder once more did nothing on opening the lid to the trunk. She twisted so that she was on her back and pushed hard with her feet, getting leverage. The lid trembled, rose slightly, and then crashed back down with enough noise to wake the dead. Feet raced over and suddenly the lid was open and Sherlock was peering inside, the dim light ghosting on his cheekbones, his eyes burning in his face. "Thank you," Felicity panted, very glad to be free of the trunk. She froze in surprise when Sherlock plucked her right out and hugged her close for a moment. His coat was warm and smelled like books. Felicity felt very safe and comforted in Sherlock's arms and his presence erased her last lingering feelings about crying. His tall frame swamped her from view, minus her vivid hair.

"Sherlock? What the hell was that—noise." John, who had come running, his Browning at the ready, slowed to a stop when he saw that Felicity was safe and accounted for. "Right. Felicity, are you ok?" John asked as Sherlock rose, still keeping Felicity close, and walked out of the storage unit and away from the body. Only then did he set her down and release her from his embrace.

"I'm perfectly fine." Felicity said, sounding more confused than she wanted to. Why did Sherlock _hug _her? She hadn't been adverse to it, the gesture was rather nice, but usually people hugged one another when they were emotional, and Sherlock was _never _emotional. Had Sherlock thought that she was abducted, injured, _dead? _ Before Felicity could ponder it further, John slipped into doctor mode, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Really, John. I'm not at all hurt." Felicity said in a stronger tone as John knelt on his haunches to inspect Felicity more closely, feeling for a pulse and checking for a temperature.

"Felicity, someone was murdered less than three feet from you. You shouldn't be fine." John half rebuked, half worried, smoothing her hair quickly as he finished his examination. "Come on," he said, standing up and reaching for her hand. Felicity didn't try to glance back to see the body-she knew that Sherlock would have walked far enough away to keep it well out of her sights. She was slightly frustrated by his gesture, but mostly glad for it. Sherlock walked behind them, a silent protector as they left the museum and caught a cab.

The ride was quiet. Sherlock stared straight ahead, fingers twitching on his thigh, and John stared out the window of the cab at the city racing by. Felicity sat between them, as usual. She was not affected by Soo Lin Yao's death like any other child would be. The murder had sparked her mind into overdrive instead of frightening her. Now that she knew that the smuggling ring was _The Black Lotus,_ she needed to figure out which 'book' Soo Lin Yao needed to crack the code. Figuring that her last seconds with Soo Lin Yao would be important to the case, Felicity finally broke the silence. "The symbols are set up around a book code." She said quietly. At first, neither man responded; then John huffed disapprovingly.

"Felicity, it's late and you just witnessed-" John's gentle rebuke was cut off as Sherlock turned to look at her, eyes blazing with new excitement.

"How do you know?" He asked, his previously emotional moment at the museum a mere memory.

"When Soo Lin and I were in the storage unit, she had a moment to look at the picture of the symbols that John took, really look at it as if to solve it. She said, and I quote, 'I need my book' before her brother made his appearance. Therefore, the code has to be based off of page numbers of a book and then by word numbers on said page." She explained calmly. Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, grimacing in concentration. It had scared him more than he ever thought he would be, thinking that Felicity was dead. His unstoppable reaction in the museum had left him slightly troubled about dealing with sentiment. He pushed those feelings away, however, to focus on the case.

"A book, a common book- of course! What book would both victims have?" Sherlock asked himself. Moments later his phone was in hand as he texted Dimmock his request (order) to get the books from both victims sent to the flat yet that night.

"Well, everyone has a dictionary, don't they? A bible?" John suggested, his shock at Felicity's willingness to continue with the case quickly fading.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock agreed distractedly as the cab pulled up to Baker Street. "Both men would have those books, most likely, but they are so common they are conspicuous. There has to be a less likely candidate in the possessions of both men-" He was getting out of the cab as he spoke, but he cut himself off as he noticed a black car parked innocently by the curb. "Mycroft." Sherlock swore venomously in recognition as Felicity and John slid out of the cab.

"What? Why? Oh," John said, looking down at Felicity standing next to him. "He would have noticed eventually, Sherlock." John sighed as Sherlock's hands balled into fists as he glared at his own flat, unwilling to enter. Sherlock and Mycroft were extremely competitive and jealous, and Felicity was _his, his _find, and he wasn't going to play nice or share like Mummy had always asked (begged).

"Is that your brother?" Felicity piped up, sounding curious. "He won't make me go home, will he? Do you think he'd tell Charley?" All at once, the idea hit Felicity that Sherlock's powerful and slightly mean older brother would (or had already) called Charley and she would be sent back to her awful neighbor and would never get to see Sherlock and John again. The idea frightened her; Sherlock and John had made her life _interesting _for the first time she could remember. If that were to go away, if this were to end Felicity didn't know what she would do with herself. That fear was so strong that it even made it into her usually very controlled voice.

"I won't let him," Sherlock promised irrationally, not caring what it would take for him to make Mycroft shut up and leave if he was going to ruin things with Felicity. He was already so attached to this little girl that he would do anything for her- murder, bribery, theft, forgery…Sherlock would even _show emotion _like he instinctively did in the museum. He only showed emotion for John and Mummy and even then the occurrence was rare. "Besides, if your current history with meeting intimidating people is anything to go by, you'll charm Mycroft in an instant." Sherlock continued, boosting her confidence. "Want a ride?" He offered, and Felicity couldn't help but smile and nod eagerly. In seconds she was back on Sherlock's shoulders. Her friendship with Sherlock sent thrill down every nerve in her body; he truly was her first friend and that was a relationship that was never forgotten.

"How's the weather up there?" John joked as they walked into 221B and mounted the stairs. John was glancing at Sherlock with a barely concealed smile. He really enjoyed seeing Sherlock so undone, so _human. _It made him even more grateful and protective of Felicity than ever. John only ever wanted to see Sherlock happy, as happy as he was when he was with Felicity. He walked a little taller, spoke with confidence instead of arrogance, and his eyes seemed to sparkle, even when they were looking at John. John was more than accepting of every other aspect of Sherlock (he shared a flat with him for god's sake), but there was something about the more relaxed Sherlock that made something tug in John's stomach. It didn't help that when Sherlock wasn't enamored with Felicity or focusing on the case he was staring at John with more intensity than John had ever been treated to in his life.

"Rather dusty- do you two ever clean?" Felicity asked, examining the ceiling; it was suddenly seven feet closer than usual. John chuckled as he opened the door for them, banishing his previous thoughts with a good kick as Sherlock sent him a brief smile before bending his knees and ducking so that he would pass through the doorway without scraping Felicity off.

"Mycroft." He greeted his brother in a calm yet dangerous tone, completely nonchalant to the fact that he had a little girl riding on his shoulders like he was her father. Felicity looked down at the man in question curiously from around Sherlock's unruly curls. Mycroft was seated in Sherlock's armchair and seemed to be the picture of austerity. He was slightly balding but had the same elegant face as Sherlock. He was wearing a three piece suit that looked expensive, an umbrella leaning next to him. Just by glancing at him Felicity could tell where he'd been (Cairo) and what he'd been doing (eating a pastry).

"You are aware that you have a small child on your shoulders, aren't you, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked half incredulously, half imperiously, his gaze flicking up to Felicity. She smiled at him blissfully and he seemed to blink in surprise by her action. Most people looked at Mycroft with either confused, carefully composed or angry expressions. He wasn't used to being liked so quickly, if at all.

"Yes, _obviously. _If that's all you came here for, Mycroft, we would love it if you left." Sherlock said acerbically, standing over him. Mycroft rose, suddenly much closer to Felicity as he examined her curiously. Her hands rested on Sherlock's head, twirling his curls around her tiny fingers. The fact that Sherlock was completely at ease, enamored with her even, threw Mycroft for another loop. Sherlock had always been sensitive about his hair, sensitive around people and just…sensitive in _general. _Why was he suddenly so happy around this child?

"You must realize, Sherlock, that I was most surprised when I heard that you had a small child following you around and in your care. Naturally, I had to come and investigate." Mycroft said smoothly. In all honesty, he had to come and make sure that Sherlock wasn't going to accidentally kill her. He knew that if the girl was in his care that John would obviously be aware and more cautious, but Mycroft _had _to check. Sherlock was Sherlock, after all.

"How was Cairo? Did you see the pyramids or was your visit strictly business?" Felicity asked, unknowingly revealing her ability to deduce people as Sherlock did. It was not in an effort to seem impressive or to show off to Mycroft. Her question was genuinely friendly in tone. It was for that reason that it threw Mycroft for yet another incredible loop.

"It was quite pleasant, thank you, Ms...? " He trailed off, looking at her, waiting for her to fill in her name. He actually looked quite pleased that she was actually intelligent; it explained why she was with Sherlock. His normally icy heart had already completely melted.

"Felicity. Felicity Muller." Felicity informed him with another carefree smile.

"Well, Ms. Muller, to answer your question; no, I was unable to see the pyramids as my visit was, as you suggested, strictly business. May I ask what you are doing in my brother's company?" he asked, and Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes. Despite his outward reaction, he was secretly smug that Felicity had once again proven her incredible talent by charming the coldest person he knew- his brother.

"Here; if you two are to be talking, I'd rather not stay in Mycroft's presence for very long." Sherlock said, ducking his head and picking Felicity up and off his shoulders to rest her gently back to the ground on her own two legs. Then he went to hang up his coat, ignoring Mycroft's icy glare in his direction.

"I'm staying with Sherlock because he's nice and smart and not at all boring like my babysitter. I met him when he solved the mystery of a theft that occurred at my house. Ever since then his very presence has been most enlightening." Felicity explained, and a wry smile tugged at Mycroft's lips. It was uncommon to find someone as intelligent as the Holmes brothers and was naturally sunny, outgoing, and carefree. Felicity was such an interesting mix of adorable and intelligent that it had Mycroft leaning on her every word. Sherlock did a much better job hiding it, but, to be fair, Sherlock was used to this. Mycroft was not.

"Rather, you solved the case for him before he even arrived and he went through the motions." He prompted, and Felicity shrugged, unable to keep a smile off her face. "Your intelligence and maturity is refreshing, Felicity, and you seem most at ease with my brother, for reasons I can't imagine why." Mycroft continued, and Felicity gave him a nod. "In that case, I won't intrude any longer. My reason for visiting was to make sure that you were a guest and not Sherlock's newest experiment." Mycroft said, and Sherlock scowled at him. Now that Mycroft was interested, he'd never leave him in peace with his friend. Mycroft always ruined everything, according to Sherlock.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Felicity said solemnly, shaking his hand when it was presented. Her tiny hand was encased in Mycroft's, but she didn't seem to care.

"The pleasure was all mine, Ms. Muller." Mycroft said, actually returning her smile before shooting his brother a look that clearly said _'Mummy will definitely hear about this' _before sweeping out.

"He wasn't so bad. He was only rude when he didn't even acknowledge your presence, John." Felicity noted, jumping a bit to sit on the coffee table. John waved a hand dismissively from where he was making tea in the kitchen.

"I prefer it that way. When he _wants _to talk to me it's usually very unpleasant." John said, and Sherlock chuckled as he paced, firing off another text to Dimmock. He was very reassured that Felicity was still his and not Mycroft's. His protective nature was spiking to a point where he wanted to keep Felicity close and never let her out of his sight, and it didn't help that she'd nearly been shot a few minutes ago. Felicity was like a mirror of himself- but without all the flaws that he saw _in _himself. The effect on Sherlock was fascinating, and he wasn't about to give it up, especially not to Mycroft.

"Holmes? You up here?" Dimmock suddenly yelled up the stairs. Seconds later he appeared, looking as pissed off as he'd sounded.

"Hi, again!" Felicity pounced instantly, her cheer and relaxing atmosphere having an obvious effect on Dimmock. "Are you the book-bearer?" She asked, and Dimmock rubbed his neck.

"Erm, yes, I am. We've got all of the books sorted in boxes, Holmes. Why do you need them? Can the Yard help at all?" He asked, looking as if the last thing he wanted to do was help. His exhaustion was written all over his face.

"Good, thank you. No, your help is not necessary, Dimmock. I suggest you stop milking the Yard of overtime and go home." Sherlock said, being unusually polite. It didn't go unnoticed; John's eyebrows rose slightly as he passed around the mugs of tea he'd prepared and Felicity smiled into her lap.

"Right then," Dimmock said after a moment of finding his voice again. That was the most civil sentence Sherlock had ever said to him. "We'll get the books up." He turned and left then. After a few minutes of box after box of books entering the flat, Dimmock and his men left, leaving a maze of boxes for Felicity to weave through. It was pushing at one in the morning but she didn't feel tired, not in the slightest. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts, with energy. She hadn't been in at either crime scene because of her age, but she had a good idea about the psychology of the gang and each victim. She was eager to shine and help Sherlock crack the case.

**OoOoOoO**

**Danger and action and love oh my! Did it move to fast? Is it still true to the Blind Banker? Did you like my beginning hints to Johnlockness? It's hard to write their relationship, but I'm trying and it WILL get better. :) I still feel awful from my wisdom teeth (considering I only got them out this morning) so I wanted to update in case I get worse. **

**REVIEWS are awesome! LOUISUPERWHOLOCKED is awesome! PAIN MEDS for pain are awesome! Me high on said meds isn't nearly as awesome, but AYYY MACARENA**

**Much love,**

**bitchinblackframedglasses**


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock instantly set to work on the books. He cracked open box after box, shifting through them and making tall, crazy piles that fell more than once. He forgot the cup of tea John had made him in mere moments as his eyes, bright with intelligence, tirelessly scanned page after page. John tried to help Sherlock with his stacks of books, restacking them when necessary as well as checking for the words and pages that fit with the coded symbols. Felicity, on the other hand, sat quietly, entering and exiting her mental skyscraper several times as she cross-referenced the two personalities of the victims in an effort to determine what type of book they were looking for. She also studied the small glimpses of each crime scene that she'd managed to sneak before John had pulled her back. In Van Coon's flat, she'd only seen his books from far away. In the journalist's flat, the books had been stacked right on the stairs; Felicity had gotten a good look at those. Her mind spun over possibilities of where the two men would put a book so important, their tendencies, and the style of the Black Lotus for hours.

Eventually, Felicity started to drift off. She'd been running and excited all day and her body was starting to feel it. She fought the drowsiness as long as she could, but she eventually fell asleep leaning against a box of books, titles stacked around her with a book hanging limply from her hands. Her will was stronger than John's; he had fallen asleep an hour before in his chair. It took Sherlock another hour to notice that it had gone strangely quiet in the flat. "John. _John." _Sherlock had to shake John a few times to rouse him. His hands lingered on John's back and shoulders, unwilling to let go. His flatmate was inebriated with sleep and wouldn't remember or react to Sherlock's touch. John blinked up at him a few times, drunk with sleep deprivation.

"What's going on?" he asked in a garbled sigh, his hands spreading out weakly on the books in front of him in an attempt to keep searching. "Did you find it?"

"No, John, but I won't be making any more headway tonight and neither will you. I suggest you go to bed." Sherlock said, smiling in amusement when John just stared up at him. "You are putting in a shift at the surgery tomorrow; you need to sleep. Go to bed, John." Sherlock said, and John got up, mumbled a goodnight, and stumbled from the room. The dulled sounds of John climbing the stairs and going to bed soon died, and when they did, Sherlock stood perfectly still, listening to the silence. When there were no sounds after that, he started to weave through the books, looking for Felicity. It took a few passes, but he finally found her curled up in a small alcove made out of unopened boxes of books. More stacks of books in front of the niche nearly masked her from view; Sherlock only spotted her because of her fiery red hair. He looked at her for a moment, contentment rising into his chest to settle fondly in his heart. Felicity was like his own personal sun that he could carry with him wherever he went. Her intelligence only made her sunny demeanor all the more brightening, especially when he was in the blackest of moods. It made Sherlock inexplicably happy to see her falling asleep while working- Sherlock had done so a number of times when he was a child. Her dedication and loyalty were heart-warming.

He carefully moved stacks of books so that he could get closer. With gentleness that would stun anyone who knew the sleuth, Sherlock eased the book out of her hands and scooped her up into his arms. She stirred only a little to nestle into him more as he weaved through the books and to his own room. He held onto Felicity with one arm and pulled the covers back with the other. After removing her shoes he tucked her in the way he remembered Mummy doing to him, including the lightest of kisses to her forehead before silently closing the door and heading back to the case. Sherlock worked through the night, trying and failing to find the book he was looking for. In the end, he flopped onto the couch with a murmured swearword, closing his eyes as he retreated to his mind palace. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, half conscious, before he managed to fall asleep as well.

John woke up early, thanks to his alarm for the surgery, and managed to sneak out of the house without waking anyone up, not even Mrs. Hudson. He left a note for Sherlock telling him to '_LOOK AFTER FELICITY', _but he really needn't have bothered. He knew that despite Sherlock's demanding need to solve cases, Sherlock would do anything to keep Felicity safe. She was his heart now- and Sherlock guarded his heart viciously, and once you made it into Sherlock's heart you never left. The list of people who had made it in was so small that John could count everyone on one hand. John knew that Felicity would be fine in his care and that was the only comfort he needed before heading off to work.

When Felicity rose, she was disoriented at first. She clearly remembered falling asleep in the living room and she was now waking up in Sherlock's room. Her mind was dulled for a few moments as she fought off her lethargy and quickly realized that John or Sherlock must have carried her to bed when she fell asleep. With that kind act in her mind, she got a fresh pair of clothes and tiptoed to the bathroom, coming to the conclusion that if the flat was still quiet that John was gone and Sherlock was sleeping (he wouldn't leave her behind). She ran a bath without interruption and got ready for the day. Braiding her hair in pigtails this time, Felicity wandered into the living room and the maze of boxes. When she made it to the couch, she giggled quietly to herself. Sherlock was sleeping; his limbs sprawled everywhere in an attempt to fit onto the couch. His eyes darted slightly behind their lids- he was in an REM cycle. Deciding not to disturb him, Felicity went into the kitchen, made herself a cold breakfast, and once finished she settled back among the books to get back to work.

After another hour, Sherlock woke up slowly. He was aware that he'd fallen asleep and that he could hear pages being turned, but John was at the surgery, so…_Felicity. _He sat up so fast his head spun and his curls flew as he looked around. It took him seconds to find her. She was sitting on top of boxes of books, other volumes stacked around her as she studied the picture full of symbols that John had taken. Judging by her appearance, she'd already bathed and eaten all on her own, without waking up Sherlock. Irrational fear about her well-being fell away as Sherlock woke up completely. Of course Felicity was fine. "John left you a note," She said nonchalantly, not taking her eyes off the picture as she lifted a scrap of paper that read '_LOOK AFTER FELICITY'. _Her statement was oddly funny to Sherlock and soon he was laughing as he let himself sprawl back out on the couch. "What's so funny?" Felicity asked, fighting down giggles herself as she watched Sherlock, a broad grin lighting up her eyes.

"You are," Sherlock rumbled, getting up and stretching languidly until his hands rested against the ceiling. Then he breezed out, still chuckling to himself. After a shower, a fresh suit and some food that was forced onto him by Felicity, Sherlock went back to studying his newest puzzle, Felicity at his side. After yet another visit to his mind palace, Sherlock suddenly had a _brilliant _idea. If he couldn't find the book in the two victim's possessions, he'd go right to the source. _The Black Lotus _had to be in town somewhere- it was only logical for them to be hiding in plain sight. But where? His mind raced through possibilities, adverts he'd seen, snippets of the news he'd heard John watching while he worked on an experiment. He narrowed the search until it was suddenly very clear where _The Black Lotus _were hiding.

The Yellow Dragon Circus was in town, for one night only. Their main feature included _acrobats, _like Zhi Zhu. It was the perfect cover for the _The Black Lotus_; they were hiding in plain sight. As Sherlock made his plan, he soon realized just how dangerous this trip was going to be. He and John were going to deliberately provoke an ancient Chinese crime syndicate to try to find information on one of their most secret codes. It wasn't the most dangerous thing they'd ever done, but there was enough danger to make Sherlock question bringing Felicity. John would definitely be against it, and if Felicity were to get hurt because of an error of Sherlock's, the detective would never be able to forgive himself. The real problem would be getting Felicity to stay behind. She'd been loyal and bright this whole time and was such a pleasure to have with him on cases, and Sherlock didn't want to leave her behind. In his heart, however (an odd concept for him), he knew that leaving her at 221B would best suit everyone. "We're getting nowhere with this," Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts and glanced at his friend. Felicity was now lying across two boxes on her back, flipping through a book. How she got up on those boxes was a mystery to Sherlock; the stack she was lying on was tall, about chest height to Sherlock.

"Mmm," Felicity agreed, tossing that book aside and looking up at Sherlock as he stood over her. Brown met blue, and Felicity gathered everything she needed to know from just that look. Because Sherlock was so new with the emotions he had for Felicity, he did a poor job of hiding his expressions from his previous thoughts. She frowned at him and then full out scowled as she put it together. "You're going to find _The Black Lotus _and leave me behind, aren't you?" She asked, and when Sherlock grimaced in agreement she sat up fast, turning to look at him. "Why?" she demanded, glaring at Sherlock.

"It's dangerous, Felicity," Sherlock said, and she snorted, eyes blazing now. She stood up on the box so that she and Sherlock were, for once, face to face.

"Don't be hypocritical. You've taken me to do dangerous things before, so why is this any different?" She challenged.

"You've been perfectly safe with us so far, Felicity." Sherlock said, slightly confused by her outburst. Felicity half snorted, half laughed angrily, putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, so our stint in the Museum with Soo Lin was just a bit of fun, was it?" she demanded, and Sherlock felt a flash of guilt. If not for Soo Lin's quick thinking in hiding Felicity, his own personal sun would be dead as well. It was an egregious error he'd made, and he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

"We have never purposefully walked you into a dangerous situation, Felicity, and I don't plan on doing so in the future." Sherlock promised, and Felicity scowled at him.

"You knew that Soo Lin Yao had a death threat on her head and you knew that the chances of her living past that night were slim to none and yet you still brought me along. Stop lying, Sherlock; it doesn't suit you." She said bitterly.

"It's different, Felicity. This is different. John and I are going to deliberately attack the Tong, and that is not place for a child." Sherlock argued, slightly exasperated now. He thought he saw a brief second of hurt on Felicity's face, but it quickly vanished to be replaced with hate.

"John won't go with you. He won't want to and he won't go." She said stubbornly, almost viciously. It was a different tack for her- and the sureness and the pleasure in her voice made Sherlock pause. This kind of hate was so unlike Felicity that he knew something was wrong. She was not the type of child to throw a fit when things didn't go her way, so why was she doing it now?

"What do you mean?" Sherlock inquired, and Felicity laughed darkly.

"He has a date, Sherlock." Her tone was slow and clear, as if that fact was blatantly obvious and Sherlock was an idiot for missing it. Frowning, Sherlock ran that idea through his head. John hadn't made any plans, he was sure of it.

"No he doesn't," Sherlock disagreed after a second, and Felicity smirked.

"Trust me, he will." She said in almost a sing-song voice, but her eyes still remained dark. When Sherlock just stared at her, she huffed. "Don't play stupid, Sherlock. Any idiot would have noticed that John's closet door is still open and it's frightfully obvious that his best jumper, trousers and shoes are gone. He wouldn't wear such nice clothes to the surgery, so he's doing it for a reason; he wants to impress someone working there, he wants to look nice when he asks her for a date. He will come home with a date, without a doubt." Felicity finished fiercely.

"I've wrangled him out of dates before, it's pitiful how easy it is." Sherlock snapped back, full of the same childlike anger that he hadn't noticed something that really was obvious. He'd walked past John's room four times already this morning and hadn't noticed it. He shouldn't have continued the argument, but he just couldn't stop himself.

"Do you honestly think that he likes that, Sherlock? He has a life outside of this, you know. One day he'll get fed up with your selfishness and _leave._" She hurled the word at Sherlock and he stared at her for a few moments, hiding his shock that she would ever say something like that. Her attacks were so out of character that Sherlock knew they had to do with sentiment. Only emotions could make normally good people act like this. After looking at Felicity's face for a moment, everything clicked for Sherlock. Usually Felicity was incredibly bright and she often times understood when something was for her own good. He'd never seen her lose her temper like this, and he could only think of one reason as to why she was so angry.

"Felicity," Sherlock said gently, "this is not because I think you are incapable."

"What?" Felicity asked, completely derailed, the anger falling right off her face.

"Felicity, how could you think for one second that I thought you were as dull and stupid as the rest of the population?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "You've been an excellent friend and colleague and if this wasn't so dangerous I wouldn't exclude you for the world. I just want to keep you safe."

The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Felicity looked away and cleared her throat. "Thank you, Sherlock." She said, for once sounding her age. "My comments were stupid and inappropriate, and I'm sorry." She added, looking back up at him, all traces of anything but _Felicity _gone from her gaze. Sherlock felt himself smile.

"They weren't stupid, Felicity, they were shockingly accurate and to the point. No one has spoken to me that way before and it caught me by surprise. I shouldn't have egged on the argument the way I did." Sherlock admitted, and Felicity hugged him, sighing into his silk shirt as Sherlock kissed her hair.

"I was irrationally terrified that my first friend was going to break our friendship." Felicity said quietly, and Sherlock swallowed. Emotions. He wasn't very good at them and had no idea how to field them when they were coming from someone else; usually that was Felicity's area. Luckily, he didn't have to deal with too many emotions because Felicity pulled away, giving him a warm grin. "But everything's alright, I overreacted, and now we can move on with the case, yes?" She pushed, and Sherlock felt himself returning the grin. "So, I'm assuming you know where _The Black Lotus _are hiding?" She asked cheerfully as Sherlock crossed the room to retrieve his Blackberry.

"Yes; they are disguised as The Yellow Dragon Circus. Here for one night only, if you can imagine that. Now, you were saying something about John going on a date?" Sherlock prompted, and a slightly evil grin formed on Felicity's face as she put together what Sherlock was doing. The detective reserved three tickets for the night over the phone and then returned to staring at their pictures of cipher while Felicity continued to aimlessly pick up and stack books. Sherlock popped down to Mrs. Hudson's just to ask if she'd watch Felicity for the night and got an ecstatic 'yes'. When John finally got home from the surgery around 4pm, Sherlock pounced. "John, there's something I want to go see. Tonight." He announced as soon as John stepped into the flat.

"What? Sherlock, no, I can't. I've got a date tonight." John protested, and Felicity grinned behind her book when John proved her point. She was also trying to hide her amusement at how he was walking right into a trap and didn't even realize it.

"Why take her out to something as boring as the cinema, John? This will be much more interesting." Sherlock said, presenting John with a flyer for The Yellow Dragon Circus. John looked it over, humming appreciatively.

"One night only? They must be one heck of an act," John commented, and Felicity very nearly snorted behind her book at John's sarcastic tone. "Sherlock, this is about the _Tong_ and _The Black Lotus, _isn't it?" He demanded, and Sherlock shrugged.

"It might be. I'm following a lead and I need your assistance. If you bring your date along with you we both get what we want now don't we?" He said smoothly, and John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, alright, fine. As long as Felicity stays here." John said, and Felicity scowled behind her book, wishing desperately that she was older so that she could always follow her two friends.

"I'll be staying with Mrs. Hudson this evening," she said coolly, turning a page in the novel. It was dreadfully boring, being one of Van Coon's books, but she'd already gone through most of Lukis', save for the boxes at the bottom of the pile that she couldn't dig out on her own.

"Oh, Felicity, don't be too upset. I know you want to come with, but it's not safe. I would hate myself if anything bad happened to you," John told Felicity, crossing over to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. Felicity looked up at him and smiled, but her disappointment was still obvious, even if she was being a good sport about the whole thing.

"It's ok, John. Mrs. Hudson and I will have a great time and you'll be out on your date." Felicity replied, closing her book. "I'm going down to see Mrs. Hudson now. Before you leave could you unstack those boxes over there? I haven't been able to get through the ones at the bottom." Felicity asked briskly, sliding off the boxes she was currently sitting on and straightening her shirt. Before either man could say another word, Felicity walked out of the flat, her tiny feet making barely any noise on the steps as she descended.

"She's really put out, isn't she?" John asked after a moment, and Sherlock grimaced to confirm it as he turned back to the symbols.

"She thought that we didn't want her to come along because we thought she would be incompetent. For a little girl with very few friends she was terrified that she would lose us. That must never happen, John." Sherlock explained, tone getting fiercer as he spoke.

"God, no, of course not! How could she think, her of all people, that she wouldn't be smart enough?" John asked in disbelief, turning to look at the stairs. He was half in the mind of following her just to tell her how wrong she was, but something told him that Sherlock had sorted it out; he would know just what to say.

"Hello, dear! Come on in! I take it Sherlock and John are out, then?" Mrs. Hudson's voice filtered up the stairs as she answered the door.

"Not yet, but they'll be leaving shortly," Felicity said, and Mrs. Hudson ushered her into her flat, the door closing behind them. John and Sherlock stood in silence for a moment. Moments later, there was a knock at the door. Knowing that it was Sarah, John instantly turned to go let her in. Sherlock spent a moment more staring at the pictures of symbols, his mind thinking about something else entirely. He felt momentarily guilty leaving Felicity, even though he knew it was the right thing to do. He didn't want to let her out of his sight, but he knew that he could trust Mrs. Hudson. It was logic over sentiment, and Sherlock, as usual, let logic win. He un-stacked the boxes as Felicity had requested and then got his coat, brushing past Sarah and John as they started to come up. Above all of his worries about Felicity, he was slightly irritated and even a little bit jealous that John had a date. Sherlock felt as if he was the only one who could see how incompatible all of John's bimbo dates were with his flatmate. He wanted John to have better than that- he knew that something much better was right in front of John's face, and yet the doctor couldn't see it yet.

"Oh, I guess we're leaving, then." John said, shooting Sherlock a look as John and Sarah were forced to come back the way they'd come before. John hesitated just a bit before shutting the door to 221B, glancing at Mrs. Hudson's door briefly before following Sarah and Sherlock out.

**OoOoOoO**

"So, what would you like to do, dear? I won't pretend that I'm as interesting as Sherlock and John are, but I'll do my best." Mrs. Hudson said, and Felicity felt some of her depressed, bad mood fall away. Mrs. Hudson was so sweet and kind that she reminded her of the fuzzy memories she had of her Mum. Felicity knew that she could still have fun with Mrs. Hudson; Felicity may have been barred from doing experiments, running around London or solving crimes, but she was still in good company.

"I'll do anything you like, Mrs. Hudson." Felicity said brightly, and Mrs. Hudson suddenly smiled.

"I've been meaning to make cookies for the past few days…maybe you could help me with that, hmm?" She asked, and Felicity followed her into the kitchen, standing on a chair so that she could be above the counter too. Mrs. Hudson prattled about, getting ingredients and setting them on the counter, along with the recipe. "So, dear, tell me about your brother. You said that he left you in Sherlock's care for the week?" Mrs. Hudson started the conversation once they had everything they needed.

"Yes. My brother's name is Charley. He's twenty and he's away on army business for the week. He's the nicest, best person I've ever known and I love him." Felicity summed up, and Mrs. Hudson sighed happily.

"He sounds like a nice lad. Are you parents off on a trip then, if you were your brother's responsibility?" Mrs. Hudson asked as they measured butter, sugar and vanilla into a large bowl.

"No. My parents died when I was five." Felicity said matter-of-factly as she added the two teaspoons of vanilla necessary to fulfill the requirement of the recipe. Mrs. Hudson tisked.

"Oh, dearest," Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically, dropping a kiss on top of Felicity's head. "I'm so sorry for you."

"I don't remember them that much, so it's ok. Charley is all the family I need." Felicity said blithely, stirring in the eggs as Mrs. Hudson cracked them into the bowl one at a time. Speaking of her parents never bothered her anymore- there was barely anything to remember and without that kind of connection Felicity couldn't feel anything for them. They were dead and she wasn't. Charley had taken their deaths much harder, especially because he'd had them for his whole childhood. Their death had made him much more attached to Felicity, and vice versa. They were they only family they had left- they needed each other desperately.

"That's the spirit, dear. If you've got someone special that's all you need." Mrs. Hudson said warmly, measuring in the flour.

"Sherlock and John are my friends too. My first two friends; they're just as special as Charley. So are you, Mrs. Hudson." Felicity admitted to the baking ingredients, and Mrs. Hudson tisked happily, planting another kiss into Felicity's hair. The two of them chatted amiably for the rest of the process, during the rolling of the cookies, the baking, and, of course, the eating of the cookies. Once everything was safely packed away, Felicity suggested that they watch some telly, having noticed that Mrs. Hudson had been leaning off of her bad hip as much as possible.

They sat on her couch, Felicity curled up under her arm as they turned on one of Mrs. Hudson's favorite game-shows. As the show droned on, Felicity wandered into her mind-skyscraper, feeling safe and secure under Mrs. Hudson's gentle arm. She wandered over bits and pieces of the case for a while, and reviewed the brief glimpses she'd gotten of each victim's flat. "Oh, now, this man, he really knows his stuff," Mrs. Hudson said, breaking her out of her thoughts. The landlady was pointing at the TV, a smile on her face. "He knows women a-to-z he does. He knows just what they want." Mrs. Hudson said appreciatively, passing a smile down to Felicity, frowning when Felicity stared at her with wide eyes as a fact slammed into her brain.

**A-to-Z**

Where had Felicity seen that before? She'd seen it before, she was sure of it, but where? She sat up slowly, raising her fingertips to her temples, brow furrowed in concentration. For the moment, she ignored Mrs. Hudson's worry and confusion- she didn't have time for it. She knew that somehow, A-to-Z was relevant to the case, _very _relevant. A few seconds later, Felicity remembered.

In Van Coon's flat, in a stack of books by the TV was the guidebook _London A-to-Z. _Lukis had the same book in a pile on the stairs going up to the second story of his flat. She'd seen only sparse glances of each book, but she was positive that she'd seen them before, in each victim's flat. It was the only book that had been in both locations, meaning that it was the book they had been searching for to solve the cipher. "Oh," Felicity exhaled, incredulous that she hadn't noticed it before.

"Felicity, are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked, and Felicity suddenly grinned at her as joy swept through her. She was going to crack the cipher for Sherlock!

"I'm better than alright and you, Mrs. Hudson, are a _genius!" _Felicity crowed, giving her a brief but tight hug before dashing off the couch and through Mrs. Hudson's flat. Ignoring Mrs. Hudson's protests, Felicity shot upstairs and flicked on the light, surveying the boxes of books. Someone had unburied the last few boxes for her, leaving them in their own pile (Felicity had insisted on going through every box and had made very specific piles that _were not _to be disturbed). She launched to work immediately, popping the boxes open and digging until she emerged with _London A-to-Z. _By that time, Mrs. Hudson had followed her. "This book, Mrs. Hudson! _A-to-Z! _This is the book we've been looking for the whole time!" Felicity explained hastily, climbing a stack of boxes to get the picture with the symbols off the wall.

"Goodness gracious, child, be careful!" Mrs. Hudson fretted as Felicity copied the same climbing technique to fetch a pen off of Sherlock's desk. "Can I help you with anything?" she asked anxiously when Felicity didn't respond.

"I think I'm fine. Thanks though!" Felicity piped up from behind the quickly rustling pages. "No, wait!" She cried out as a new idea slammed into her head, making Mrs. Hudson pause by the door. "Do you have a mobile phone? I have to text Sherlock and let him know." She explained hastily, and Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"Sorry, dear, but I stick with the landline. I can't figure those fancy contraptions out," Mrs. Hudson said, and Felicity's face fell back as she thought furiously.

"He won't pick up a call, not even from you—he never takes calls unless he thinks it's for a new case- dammit—" She went back to the book, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's tisk at her language. Felicity each took pair of numbers as a word, flipping madly through the book in an effort to translate the Hang Zhou into readable English. It took her maybe five minutes before she'd gotten it.

**NINE MILL FOR JADE PIN**

**DRAGON DEN BLACK TRAMWAY**

Felicity took one look at what she'd done and nearly cried out in triumph. By breaking the cipher she'd managed to identify what had been stolen as well as where _The Black Lotus_ was hiding. She looked over the words once, twice, three times, added facts about the pin streaming into her head before she hurried back down to Mrs. Hudson's flat and asked if she could use the landline. Felicity had to try to contact Sherlock- this was too important to wait. She dialed the number and waited impatiently as it started to ring…

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Hello! So, did you like Felicity and Mrs. Hudson baking cookies? I can totally see Mrs. Hudson treating her like her grandchild and I had a 'bawww' moment so I had to write it. As my beta pointed out, I probably should have said 'biscuits' if I wanted to be more British but I'm an ignorant American who likes cookies. Also, I'm sorry for changing the plot AGAIN. I know that it you were probably expecting Felicity to go with them to the circus but for god's sake Sherlock isn't that stupid; he wouldn't do that to his 'personal sun'. I think. Was it okay that Felicity solved the cipher? I know I hate it when OC's are suddenly, _magically _geniuses who just manage to _solve the crime _and all that bullshit. I figured that since Felicity's pretty damn smart she would figure it out. And y****es, even cute little geniuses like Felicity second guess themselves. We all do- I was trying to make her human?! Idek**

**Your reviews literally made me cry. Seriously. The amount of thought you guys put into reading this and critiquing it is too much. Your all like little Sherlock's with your little magnifying glasses, finding something and pointing to it while yelling, "IT'S A JUICY PLOT NUGGET QUICKLY JAWN!" I love it and I can't thank you enough for it. **

**My beta, louisuperwholocked is fucking awesome, in case you forgot. That's ok. I'll remind you again at the next chapter...which will include moar protective slightly slashy Johnlocky-ness! WE ARE FAMILLYYYY**


	9. Chapter 9

"Come on, come on…" Felicity murmured into the receiver, anxiously twisting the cord around her tiny finger. She was standing on one of Mrs. Hudson's dining room chairs by the phone so that she could reach the device properly. Mrs. Hudson, thankfully, had given her some space, telling her that when Sherlock acted similarly to how she was at the present, it was best for her to leave him to it and so, therefore, she was going to give Felicity her space. The effort was appreciated- Felicity didn't want to worry her with the meaning of the threat that had been left for both victims and Soo Lin Yao. The one and the fifteen in Hang Zhou translated into **DEADMAN. **Mrs. Hudson was a nice lady, Felicity reasoned, and she didn't want her to have to hear about death threats in her own kitchen. Felicity sighed, listening to the phone ring in her ear over and over. Sherlock wasn't going to pick up. She started to return the phone to the receiver when-

"Yes, hello?" Sherlock finally picked up, sounding irritated.

"Sherlock!" Felicity exclaimed, bringing the phone back to her ear with enough force to make her catch her balance on the chair. She'd nearly hung up on him and her adrenaline was running high now that he'd picked up.

"Felicity? What's wrong; is everything alright?" Sherlock fired off, his tone morphing through his previous annoyance, then confusion, and then worry.

"Everything's fine- it's actually brilliant! I cracked the cipher!" Felicity said breathlessly, reaching over and picking up the photograph with the translation so she could read it off.

"What?" Sherlock's confusion and underlying tones of amazement made Felicity feel like giggling. Sherlock had agonized over the symbols and the importance of cracking the cipher ever since they'd found the original death threats. Cracking the cipher was a major breakthrough for the case, and Felicity was proud that she was the one to have done it. With the information the cipher provided, Sherlock would be able solve the case, possibly that evening yet."What does it say?" he demanded, snapping back into the game within seconds of processing her achievement.

"Nine mill, jade pin, dragon den, black tramway," Felicity rattled off. "Nine million pounds for a jade pin to be delivered to the dragon den at black Tramway." She rephrased as Sherlock was silent as he processed her words.

"Tramway…Felicity, you are incredible," Sherlock snapped to a few seconds later, sounding thrilled. "I'll go collect John and we'll put this case to rest." His voice picked up with excitement as he spoke. The fact that he didn't question Felicity in the slightest made her feel _very _happy. Being left behind on their mission had made Felicity doubt herself and her capabilities. If Sherlock was accepting her work unconditionally she knew deep in her heart that he was still her friend.

"Collect him?" Felicity asked, suspicion automatically springing up in her mind once the happiness faded. Sherlock scoffed.

"After the circus show they decided to '_go_ _out to dinner'." _He scorned the words and Felicity just barely muffled her giggles. She could tell that Sherlock would forever resent anyone dating John, for multiple reasons. She wanted to ask about it, but Sherlock and John were nowhere near…defined, so she wasn't going to pry until they had their facts straight. Besides, they were on the phone in the middle of a case- not exactly the most convenient time to ask about such trivial matters.

"How did the circus go, by the way? Find anything?" Felicity asked. Before Sherlock could answer, Mrs. Hudson burst into the kitchen, looking pretty angry for such a nice old lady.

"Felicity, did you paint all over the windows upstairs? They're covered in this horrid yellow paint," she accused, and Felicity stared at her, facts clicking into her brain at a frightening speed. Ignoring Sherlock for the moment as he instantly started to ask questions, she raced through all the possible outcomes of what the symbols were and why. She reached a grim conclusion.

"Was one of them a line, Mrs. Hudson? Just a straight line?" Felicity asked quickly, and the landlady nodded.

"The other one was all squiggly." Mrs. Hudson puffed, still angry about the windows. Felicity mentally ran through every word on page fifteen of _London A-to-Z, _and no message stood out clearer than **DEADMAN. **Even though she hadn't seen the graffiti upstairs, she knew exactly what message had been left in 221B.

"Felicity," Sherlock called her name in an urgent reminder that he was still there and listening on the other end of the phone, his voice breaking her out of her thoughts. Felicity looked away from Mrs. Hudson and back at the page with the symbols.

"It's the same threat as before, Sherlock, painted on our windows. It translates to '**DEADMAN**'," Felicity told him, sudden fear striking her heart. She knew that Sherlock would be fine- he was aware of the threat. John, however, was not, and Sherlock wasn't with him. John was completely clueless to the danger; he was on a date. "Sherlock are you _sure _that John is ok? Really positive?" She asked, the fear creeping up before she could stop it. Sherlock never should have left John alone, and Felicity realized that letting John go on a date on a case while provoking criminals wasn't the best idea. It kept him separate from them and out of the loop, and Felicity didn't like that at all.

"I'm on it Felicity." Sherlock promised suddenly, and then he hung up. Felicity lowered the phone, stared at it, and then slowly hung it back up, a bad feeling stirring in her stomach. John was possibly in danger and she was stuck in 221B, unable to help in the way she wanted to. After a brief moment to think, she decided that she had to do something, even if it was just sending the police to the secret hideout of _The Black Lotus. _ Felicity picked the phone back up and did the one thing she'd promised Sherlock and John she'd do if there was trouble; she dialed 999. Felicity directed the police to the tunnel at Tramway before turning to face Mrs. Hudson.

"Is everything alright, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked as Felicity climbed down from her chair. Felicity paced around the kitchen, trying to think of the probability of _The Black Lotus _going after John. Sherlock was the detective, not John, so why go for the army doctor? It didn't make sense- and that gave Felicity hope. Maybe she was overreacting and John was having a perfectly normal date with his girlfriend. "Felicity, you're in a right state, aren't you. Come here," Mrs. Hudson offered, and Felicity joined her in the living room again, snuggling back under her arm. "Now tell me what this is all about." She insisted, and Felicity buried her face into her dress.

"It's about the case. I broke a code, a really important code. The people who use the code are angry at Sherlock for trying to get them in trouble so they spray-painted the windows upstairs as a threat." Felicity explained. "I'm _worried, _Mrs. Hudson. I want to be with them but I know I can't and since I don't know what's going on I'm worried." She summed up frantically, and Mrs. Hudson tisked, pressing a kiss to Felicity's hair. She'd taken care of plenty of children in her lifetime, but never one as intelligent and perceptive as Felicity. Above all that was her sweetness, and Mrs. Hudson found herself wondering if this is what Sherlock was like when he was growing up.

"You just stay right here with me. Sherlock will get it all sorted, you just wait and see." Mrs. Hudson said comfortingly, rubbing Felicity's back. They didn't turn the telly on again. The two of them sat there in silence, Mrs. Hudson thinking about Felicity and Sherlock and Felicity fretting about her two best friends. Everyone who had received the **DEADMAN **threat so far had been killed, and Felicity wouldn't know what to do with herself if Sherlock and John were to die. Felicity waited impatiently for a whole _hour._ The waiting was awful. A million different scenarios ran through Felicity's mind; torture, murder, kidnapping, hostages, fights…she tried to get the more rational part of her realize that she was overreacting, but emotion trumped logic. It was getting late, but she insisted to Mrs. Hudson that she wasn't going to bed until she knew that her two friends were safe. Finally, around eleven o' clock, the front door to 221B opened. In seconds Felicity had shot off the couch and to the door of Mrs. Hudson's flat. She had to jump a bit to get the handle, but then she'd pulled the heavy door open.

Standing in the entryway, talking quietly, were Sherlock and John. Both looked a little ruffled, like they'd been fighting, but they were both home safe, alive, and perfectly ok. The sight of them made Felicity's knees nearly go weak in relief. She darted forward and hugged Sherlock's legs as tightly as she was capable of, nearly knocking him over. "Oh, Felicity, there you are. _Excellent _work on the cipher." Sherlock complimented, sounding much brighter than he had previously.

"Don't you do that _ever _again." Felicity huffed, punching him in the thigh as high as she could reach. "I was _worried _and I didn't _know_ if you were ok so don't _do _that!" She repeated, glaring up at Sherlock. "And _you," _ she continued, darting around Sherlock to go to John, "if you _ever- _John, your head!" Felicity gasped, her intelligent eyes finding a cut wound on John's temple, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Felicity, it's ok," John laughed weakly, but Felicity shook her head fiercely at him, her worry increasing exponentially even though he was back home safe. The idea of anyone hurting John made her anxious and furious at the same time.

"Come down here," she ordered, and John acquiesced, crouching down to her level. Felicity inspected the wound, biting her lip as she saw how deep it got over his temple. It had to have hurt quite a bit to receive.

"Felicity, it's alright. The case is solved; it's all over." John told her, and Felicity sighed, hugging him tight. "Well, it's over thanks to you. You broke the cipher just in time- without you, I'd probably be dead right now." John added as an afterthought.

"_WHAT?" _Felicity demanded, pulling away to look at him clearly.

"It's true. If I didn't know to go to Black Tramway, I wouldn't have reached John in time." Sherlock agreed, and Felicity turned to look at him, half horrified and half surprised. "Why don't we go upstairs and we'll tell you all about it, hmm?" Sherlock suggested, seeing how upset Felicity was, and she nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock added as she appeared in the doorway. The older woman nodded, giving John a brief wave before turning back into her flat and closing the door.

"Thanks for everything, Mrs. Hudson!" Felicity called quickly before she urged Sherlock and John up the stairs, getting surprised with a piggy-back-ride from John. Felicity clung to his back, surreptitiously burying her face into the wool of his jumper; it was comforting. Her paranoia was slowly ebbing away to be replaced with possessiveness. Felicity wanted these two men to herself, forever.

"Right, tea first, questions second. Would you like a cup?" John asked Felicity as he set her right on the kitchen table.

"Yes, please," she and Sherlock answered at the same time, and Sherlock hid his smile by turning to hang up his coat at the door. John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's usual laziness, getting the kettle and going through the comfortingly monotonous motions of preparing tea. Once his coat was hung up, Sherlock came and sat at the kitchen table. When the tea was ready, John sat across from him, leaving Felicity to sit on the table off to their left, forming a perfect little triangle.

"Alright, Felicity, fire away," John chuckled, seeing how Felicity only ran a finger anxiously around and around the lip of her mug instead of drinking the tea inside. With that permission, Felicity started right away.

"What happened at The Yellow Dragon Circus?" She asked, her eyes flashing up to look at Sherlock and John. Sherlock started chuckling, so Felicity sent him a fierce glare. To her, it wasn't funny.

"John and Sarah got to watch the majority of the performance in peace. I did some investigating backstage and eventually ran into trouble. It was just an altercation," he said dismissively. Sherlock didn't want to hide things from Felicity (she'd find out eventually), but at the same time he didn't want her to worry.

"Your last 'altercation' was anything but nominal, Sherlock." Felicity caught on right away, leaning forward slightly as if to inspect and deduce the answers she wanted right from Sherlock's appearance. The fact that she alluded to Sherlock being very nearly strangled in Soo Lin Yao's flat made John wince. If Felicity hadn't been there, he probably wouldn't have realized that his best friend was dying five feet away. The only reason he realized that Sherlock was in trouble at the circus was because the fight spilled out right in front of him. John made a mental note; _keep a closer eye on Sherlock._

"When the fight spilled out onto the stage I helped out a bit. So did Sarah, to be honest with you. We all got out unscathed." John promised Felicity, and she scowled, taking a sip of tea. John may not have been hit in the face at the circus, but Felicity could tell that he'd most likely been kicked in the ribs, judging by how he stood with his shoulders slouched slightly forward and he sat carefully so as to not disturb the inflamed area. Felicity let that point go, however- there was nothing she could do about any injuries her two friends had sustained.

"What happened after?" She pushed, sitting as if she were about to slip into her mind-skyscraper; back straight, legs folded neatly. Sherlock scoffed again, and John glared at him. Sherlock had been very touchy about John going out on a date rather than helping him solve the case and it was still an unresolved issue. John had a feeling as to why he thought Sherlock was acting the way he was, but he wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking or a dead on assumption. He _wanted _it to be true, but…

"I took Sarah out to eat; I figured that she'd had quite enough of Sherlock and violence for the evening." John explained, shooting Sherlock a look. "Sherlock was going to go back to the museum to try and look around in Soo Lin's possessions for a clue when you called him. By that time, Sarah and I were done eating and about to head back to Baker Street when we got pulled into an alley and I got clobbered." John gestured to his wound exasperatedly. He was still upset that he let himself get abducted that easily. He'd been in the military for god' sake, and now all it took was one hit and he was out like a light. It irritated him.

"Following your lead, Felicity, I went to black Tramway and rescued John. The police you called showed up just in time to arrest the criminals responsible." Sherlock finished. For a moment, Felicity just stared at Sherlock and John, brow furrowed slightly as she made her own opinions and deductions. "I really must reiterate, Felicity, that your work with the cipher was excellent. May I see it?" Sherlock asked, and Felicity blinked, coming out of her thoughts.

"Oh, of course," she said to herself, pulling the folded up image out of her pocket and spreading it flat on the table between Sherlock and John. After receiving some help scrambling down off the table, she returned with _London A-to-Z. _John picked her back up and set her in her previous spot as Sherlock scrutinized the photograph, humming appreciatively. Felicity silently handed the guidebook to Sherlock when he raised a hand, asking for it.

"How did you figure which book to use?" John asked, watching Sherlock pour over her translation with a slight grin. In an instant, Mrs. Hudson's crap telly comment popped up in Felicity's head, making her snort and then giggle uncontrollably in response to John's question. By the time she surfaced, both men looked considerably alarmed at her reaction.

"Mrs. Hudson," she gasped finally, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "It was Mrs. Hudson. We were watching telly and she said something about a man knowing women 'a-to-z' and then I remembered seeing a book in both flats with that title. All I had to do was come up to your flat and go through the books to prove it."

"But you didn't get to go into either flat; I didn't let you." John said, considerably confused. He'd kept Felicity in his sight at all times so that she wouldn't see any bodies. How could she have remembered seeing books in the victim's flats if she'd never been there?

"I didn't go in, that's true, but I got brief glimpses. At Van Coon's flat, I got a good look around Sherlock's legs and I got to see all of the books stacked on the stairs in Lukis' flat. Once I had some context, it wasn't hard to remember." Felicity shrugged, and Sherlock beamed at her, pleased that her mental capabilities had expanded exponentially since she'd come to stay with him. She'd learned how to ask the right questions, she understood what questions to ask, and she'd displayed her incredible brilliance by cracking the cipher. He had an unexpected urge to hug her as John stared at her in disbelief.

"That…is extraordinary." He said slowly, a grin stretching over his face. "Really, it was reallyvery brilliant." He added, and Felicity actually _blushed, _her face starting to glow the same shade as her hair.

"Thank you, John." She said, hastily hiding her face behind her mug as she took a sip of tea.

"What did I tell you, John? An excellent colleague and observer." Sherlock threw in, squashing his urge to hug her. He was _Sherlock Holmes. _He didn't hug people, not even John. He'd have to consider making an exception for Felicity, however. Sherlock had never felt an urge like that before; he didn't know how to react. Until he could further study the idea, he'd have to repress it. Felicity spluttered on her tea, eyes suddenly lighting up. John whumped her on the back a few times when she exploded into a fit of coughing.

"That reminds me! I know where the jade pin is!" Felicity cried, setting down her tea mug once her airway cleared.

"Oh, the jade pin? _That_ jade pin?" John asked, pointing to Felicity's tiny letters '**JADE PIN' **that were written over Hang Zhou symbols on the picture between them. Felicity nodded furiously.

"Hmmm," Sherlock mused, pressing his hands together so that he could think. He hadn't deduced the pin's location yet, and was finding it extremely interesting that Felicity had. "Have I seen it before?" he asked Felicity, and she cocked her head as she thought about his question.

"It depends, I guess. You were in the same room as the pin, but I think you were focused on something else. John may have been more interested." Felicity giggled as John sent her a look that said, 'Oh god, not you too,' while Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He'd instantly understood that Felicity was referring to John's obvious interest in women, but he was still trying to piece together all moments where he was with a woman and John over the past few days. It didn't help that his mind was disagreeing with his current deduction on John's romantic interests; John may look at women often, but the looks that really _meant _something were usually aimed at-

Then, it was suddenly obvious.

While they were waiting for Sebastian, Sherlock had been staring out of a window, utterly bored. John had been pretending to read a magazine, but he'd really been watching Van Coon's personal secretary, Amanda, while she talked animatedly with Felicity. In the brief glances he'd stole at John and the woman, he could remember seeing an ornamental pin in her hair with a jade tip…

"Oh," Sherlock let out slowly as he realized it. "Of course." He glanced at Felicity, once again extremely proud of her observant nature. It would have taken him a few hours in his mind palace to come to the same conclusion that she had in mere moments. Felicity was well on her way to becoming a detective, ad that made Sherlock very happy indeed.

"Well? Would you two like to let the mere mortals know?" John teased, and Sherlock gestured to Felicity, giving her the right to reveal the pin's new owner.

"Amanda has it! The secretary at the bank who I was talking to while we were waiting to see Sebastian! She was wearing the pin in her hair; Van Coon was the thief- he stole the pin and gave it to Amanda as a present!" Felicity revealed, and John chuckled into his tea.

"The two of you are so bright it's blinding," he joked, standing up and collecting their used tea mugs, still chuckling. "I take it we'll be visiting the bank tomorrow to let her know?"

"An excellent suggestion, John; that will wrap the case up, I should think." Sherlock said, stretching languidly. He couldn't deny that he was starting to feel his tiredness. Two fights and running around London did happen to slow him down, despite the stereotype that he was unstoppable. John seemed to pick up on those vibes.

"Now, to bed; it is past midnight and you need to sleep. We all do," John insisted, giving Felicity a lift down from the tabletop. As he watched her go to put her pajamas on, John found it odd that she'd only been with them for three days. Felicity could have always lived at Baker Street- she slipped into a niche with the doctor and the detective as if it was made for her. Felicity appeared less than a minute later in her pajamas, her flowing red hair free from their pigtails. When her hair was down it was obvious why she braided it- the flowing locks were rebellious and untamable otherwise.

"Aren't you going to treat your wound?" Felicity asked, pointing up at John's temple. John raised a hand to it in a customary reaction, having forgotten all about his throbbing headache during their previous conversation. Now that she'd mentioned it, the cut started to pulsate with pain once more.

"Oh, yes, of course," John said, and they walked down to the bathroom together. "You'd think that as a doctor I could take care of myself," John joked, and Felicity flashed him a grin as they ducked through the doorway.

Turns out, Sherlock was already there, brushing his teeth.

In the end, the three of them somehow fit in the bathroom. John sat on the edge of the bathtub to clean himself up and Sherlock and Felicity shared the sink as they brushed their teeth. Felicity had her step stool, of course, which clogged up a bit of space, but it felt homey with all three of them sharing the bathroom at once. Felicity seemed to enjoy it immensely, so both men were more than willing to oblige. During that process, however, more of Sherlock's tiredness started to show, despite his best efforts to keep up his tireless image. His usually impeccable posture was slumping slightly, and he had to clench his jaw to keep back yawns. Felicity finished brushing first and after pushing her step-stool back out of the way, she left the bathroom.

"Oi, where are you going?" John called when Felicity turned right to go back to the living room instead of left to go to Sherlock's room.

"Sherlock's tired- I'll take the couch," Felicity called, and Sherlock nearly dropped his toothbrush. He'd forgotten how observant Felicity was. John fought down a grin as Sherlock sent him a glare that dared John to say anything to support Felicity's claim. John leapt on any possible chance to get Sherlock to sleep and Sherlock didn't need him ganging up on him with Felicity.

"No," Sherlock called firmly, stowing his toothbrush hastily and ducking out of the bathroom as well to find Felicity. She was already curled up comfortably on the couch, looking up at Sherlock innocently as he stopped in front of the couch, his height towering over her. "Felicity, you are a guest here. You are not sleeping on the couch." He told her, and she raised an eyebrow as a challenge before snuggling down further, clearly having none of it. If she were John, Sherlock probably would have shouted at her, insulted her, or sat on her- but Felicity wasn't John. Felicity was his sun- and she brought out his human side. Without further ado, Sherlock effortlessly scooped her up under his arm. "We can share, can't we?" he mused to the flat as Felicity erupted into giggles, her hair flying every which way. Ignoring John's outright stare of amusement and amazement from the bathroom doorway, Sherlock carried Felicity to his room and plopped her on the bed. "May we share?" Sherlock asked the ball of fiery hair as Felicity snuggled under his comforter. He didn't want to put himself upon her- he'd never shared a bed with anyone before and Sherlock wasn't sure on how to ask in a socially acceptable sense. Thankfully, Felicity was more than accommodating.

"Oh, yes please," she agreed, the sound muffled under the blankets. Sherlock went to the bathroom to fetch and change into his pajamas before going back to his room, bidding a triumphant John goodnight on the way. Sherlock's feet padded silently over his creaky wooden floors as he made his way to bed. On the right side there was a small little ball that was Felicity. The usual awkwardness that Sherlock would have felt in just about any social situation that would have involved sharing a sleeping space automatically vanished as Felicity burrowed back up to the top. A wavy mess of red hair appeared first and then two warm brown eyes popped up over the edge of the duvet to watch him. Needing no further encouragement than that, Sherlock slid into bed, looking down in surprise when Felicity curled into his side just like that.

"You don't seem tired," Sherlock noted, the odd, pleasant feeling of contentment building inside him at Felicity's presence at his side. He couldn't see her under the blankets, but the idea that she was _there _was more than enough.

"I'm not." Felicity told him quietly. There was a long pause as the two of them listened to John settle into bed upstairs. "I do this with Charley all the time," Felicity said suddenly, and Sherlock looked down at the small bump next to his hip. "He remembers the car accident that killed my parents vividly, but I remember nothing. Sometimes he has nightmares and so we sleep together."

"You were in the car," Sherlock said, and it wasn't a question. Felicity curled into a tighter ball at his side in reaction to his statement, telling Sherlock that he was right.

"Yes. " Felicity confirmed. There was another hefty pause before she continued. "It was a head-on-collision. My parents were seated in the front; Charley and I were in the back. Charley walked away with a dislocated shoulder but I had a concussion. I don't remember the accident at all." She sounded slightly confused, slightly frustrated as she spoke, and Sherlock felt a spike of protectiveness. The fact that Felicity didn't remember her parent's death must have put an incredible strain on Charley. The one person he had left in the world didn't remember the previous danger in her past. On top of that, it must have been awfully frustrating for Felicity to try and comfort her brother over and event she didn't remember occurring. Their situation was an odd one.

"You take good care of your brother," Sherlock said finally, and Felicity laughed quietly.

"You remind me of him sometimes," Felicity yawned, resting her head on Sherlock's stomach.

"Do I?" Sherlock repeated, and Felicity just nodded.

"You're just as important," she murmured after a moment, her body relaxing further and further towards sleep. Her comment left Sherlock speechless for a long time, a lump growing in his throat. No one had ever trusted him like that, no one had ever become friends with him so quickly and simply, and no one had _ever _held him in such high esteem as to equate him with a family member. By the time Sherlock had his voice back, Felicity was fast asleep, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts.

**OoOoOoO**

After his third straight day of army business, Charley was more than ready to go home. He was exhausted, irritated, and tired of being ordered around by higher officers. He longed for snuggling on the couch with his sister, drinking tea and laughing. He even missed, dare he admit it, his long shifts as a bartender and a deli worker. Charley owed the army quite a bit, but at the same time he resented it. His life was busy enough- he hardly got to see his sister- and then the army had to go and take away more of his time. As her only guardian, Charley worried about Felicity constantly. She was different, to say the least, and Felicity often times ran into trouble simply for being herself. It angered Charley that people would hate his sister for being natural, but he couldn't fight all her battles.

Exhausted, Charley entered the lobby of his hotel with the sole interest of going up to his room and sleeping for a full ten hours. He never made it. "Sir? Mr. Muller? You have an important phone call on hold." The receptionist was calling him, extending the receiver his way. Fighting back paranoia, Charley accepted the phone with a quick thank you.

"Hello?" He asked, trying to keep the worry and suspicion out of his voice. Why would anyone need to call him while he was on army business? His mind automatically flashed to Felicity- hurt, beat up again at school and his pulse raced.

"Charley? This is Principal Unden." The voice on the other end was so painfully professional that Charley wanted to scream, his worst fears bubbling up inside him before they could be squashed back down.

"Is something wrong?" Charley cut right to the chase. There was a pause, and Mrs. Unden sighed, sounding half amused and half annoyed.

"I'm afraid that Felicity has caused a bit of trouble, Charley. She's missed school for the past three days. When I contacted your neighbor, Ms. Millan, to enquire about her whereabouts, she said that Felicity was on a school trip."

"She is on a school trip. I got a letter and everything." Charley interrupted, confused. He had the letter in his case upstairs; Charley liked to keep track of Felicity wherever she went.

"Well, that's the problem, Charley. There is no school trip. Felicity invented this trip somehow, and she's missing." Mrs. Unden admitted, and cold stole into Charley's heart so quickly that he nearly dropped the phone. Panic made him blind until he realized that Felicity organized the fake trip to run away somewhere- it wasn't like she'd been kidnapped. Felicity was obviously smart and devious when she wanted to be; she was probably safe and sound, having her own fun and adventures while everyone else was none the wiser. If he could find her, he knew that everything would be alright. "Charley? Are you still there?" Mrs. Unden's voice snapped him back into reality.

"Yeah, I'm here." Charley said, just fighting down the urge to swear violently. He'd begged Felicity a million times not to do stupid things, and she never ever listened, did she?

"Do you want me to contact the police? I refrained from calling right away because, well, Felicity is a special case, isn't she?" Mrs. Unden laughed shakily, and Charley passed a hand over his face, very grateful that Mrs. Unden understood that this really wasn't an emergency- not yet.

"No, I can handle this. Thank you so much for everything." Charley said hastily, and after a few goodbyes, Charley passed the phone back to the receptionist and booked it up to his room, trying to think. He paced the small room a few times, wondering _where _Felicity could have gone. What could have been so important to her that she would leave home?

Charley tripped over his case as he suddenly realized it. Chastising himself for being so stupid, Charley picked himself up off the floor and started to throw his belongings into the case he'd tripped over as one name ran through his mind.

_Sherlock Holmes._

Felicity loved that man like she loved Charley, and if she possibly had a whole week to spend with him she'd do anything to get to London. Swearing to himself, Charley called his superior officer to explain the emergency, grabbed a cup of coffee, and then got on the first bus possible that was heading to London.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Dun dun duuunn! Did you really think that I'd let Felicity just hang out with them forever? That would be really cool, but not very realistic. So, now Charley is freaking out. You know, I never had an older brother, and I kind of wish I did. ANYWAY, I know I promised you Johnlock for this chapter and...****I substituted Moffat-esque hints of Johnlock instead of actually doing Johnlock. That is MY bad; I mixed up chapters in my head, and I'm sorry. ****I hope the fluff made up for it.**

**I've thought a lot about what 'Johnlock' entails and I'm here to tell you now that there will never be graphic, written out sex scenes. I may have to increase my rating to 'T' for later stuff (not necessarily Johnlock, mind you) and I don't want to push it higher. This story was originally about how a LITTLE GIRL changed Sherlock and John's lives and I don't want to stray from that. Sherlock and John will get together, no worries, but I won't be writing anything remotely graphic.**

**Also, your reviews literally make me squeal and flail and get weird looks all the time. I love hearing from you! I'm very determined to give you lots of updates before I go to college (I MOVE IN Sep. 1st and MY CLASSES start Sep.4th just fyi) because I'm terrified that I'll get really busy and won't have time to update and, therefore, here from all you lovely people.**

**Finally, lots of love and hugs to my beta, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr! You're a babe, dearest. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock woke up slowly.

He was very warm and even more drowsy than usual when he first woke up. His mind never quieted for more than a few hours before stirring back to life, keeping him from waking up slowly like he was now. Mind pleasantly blank, Sherlock let his eyes drift open. The first thing he saw was the shockingly vibrant head of Felicity. She was curled up close to Sherlock's side, her wavy locks just tickling the bare skin of his arm. Her face was buried into his collarbone; he could feel the gentle puff of each of her breaths through his cotton pajama top. To Sherlock's fuzzy surprise, his arm was around Felicity's back, keeping her gently in place, his fingers barely woven into her fiery hair.

The family-like intimacy was a shocker for Sherlock. His family had never displayed affection like this growing up; Sherlock hadn't even been aware that he was capable of such a loving act. He looked down at Felicity curiously, trying to get a glimpse of her face. He could see the smooth line of her cheek, her pale skin, and a tiny bit of the edge of her lip. He could make out the smudge of her eyelashes resting on the delicate skin underneath her eye, and then the edge of her eyebrow above it. The rest of Felicity's face was pressed to his chest and collarbone in apparent contentment; Felicity was fast asleep. More curious than ever, Sherlock leaned over as far as he could to see more of her face. He'd watched people sleeping from time to time and had read plenty of studies on the nature of a human being's sleep cycle, but he had never seen anyone sleeping so peacefully. It was hard for him to think of any other person he'd seen sleeping to compare (the only person he watched while sleeping on a regular basis was John, and John was plagued with nightmares of the war so his sleeping patterns were always irregular). supposed that a fair amount of emotion went into a good night's sleep; if you trusted and enjoyed the company of the person you were sleeping next to, chances were your sleep would be deeper and more beneficial to your health.

Evidence to support that claim was Sherlock himself. He couldn't remember waking up from such a long sleep feeling so refreshed. As a general rule Sherlock did not sleep well or for long periods of time. This…this was nice. He could get used to it, he reasoned. Deciding to test his luck, Sherlock slowly planted a kiss into Felicity's locks. It was hesitant and cautious, so much so that Felicity's wild hair blocked the gesture from ever reaching the top of her head. Despite that, Sherlock was flushed with success. Displaying emotion, affection, _love _even seemed so much easier with Felicity than it did with anyone else. The fact that he was comfortable around a child made Sherlock oddly proud of himself. Before he could dwell on the changes he'd made to what he deemed as 'emotions to safely show in public' thoughts, Felicity stirred, one of her tiny arms stretching out from where she'd tucked it against her chest. It was an innocent, sleepy gesture, but the resulting complications from the movement were not so easily handled.

Sherlock was rarely physically touched by others. He'd received the occasional slap for being rude and he'd been in more than enough fights and brawls. In none of those altercations, however, had anyone rested their fingers so lightly by his side. The ghosting feeling of Felicity's fingertips barely hanging there (her arm was small and his torso was long, leaving her fingertips just brushing his ribs) was more than he could bear. He hated to admit it, but Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective to have ever lived, was ticklish. Unable to squash his reaction, Sherlock tried to squirm out of the way, biting back lethargic laughter into low chuckles. Roused by Sherlock moving and the vibrations of his laughter, Felicity raised her arm sleepily. Still half asleep, she reached up as if to adjust her pillow and ended up plunging her hand into Sherlock's curly hair. The half confused, half drowsy noise she made only made Sherlock laugh harder as tiny finger felt over the texture of his hair. Without opening her eyes, Felicity suddenly shot her arm back down, her fingertips fluttering and spreading back over Sherlock's ribs in a merciless tickle.

The detective practically barked with laughter as he released his arm around Felicity in an attempt to use that limb to defend himself. His effort was useless, however, as Felicity was small and fast. Ducking under his arm, she poked and prodded, her own giggles already joining Sherlock's. Deciding that he wasn't the only one who should suffer, Sherlock found a way underneath the many layers of Felicity's hair and to the nape of her neck. The skin there was, as Sherlock found out, _extremely _sensitive. Felicity shrieked with laughter, flailing uselessly as the two of them got tangled up in the sheets and duvet in an attempt to escape one another's tickle-attacks. "Oh-_oh! Mercy!" _Felicity begged, gasping for air she was giggling so hard after just moments of Sherlock tickling the back of her neck. Sherlock relented instantly, pulling up the covers and sheets in an effort on actually locating his friend. In their mock-battle he'd only been able to follow her because he could feel her moving. Now that their fight had stopped, Sherlock was stuck half on his knees, his one arm stretched as far it would go under the covers from his attempts to tickle Felicity.

"It's not very polite to wake someone up by tickling them." Sherlock told her, still chuckling under his breath as he picked up all the covers at once. Peeking underneath the tent he'd created, he easily found Felicity curled up in a ball all the way at the end of the bed, her wild hair obscuring her face.

"Everything alright in here?" John's voice made Sherlock's head shoot up to find him standing in the doorway, looking more amused than ever. "I heard the sounds of someone being viciously attacked. Is anyone hurt?" John asked in mock concern, unable to keep the grin off his face. His gaze lingered on Sherlock, on his fluffed and mussed hair, his flushed and happy face. There was something about it that made his heart want to leap into his throat; he _liked _seeing Sherlock that way. He had seen Sherlock in what he thought was his best and worst moods, but what he was seeing now was clearly the very best of the great detective. Sherlock stared back at John, something a lot more serious underneath his obvious happiness. He was staring at John like he wanted something…

"I think I'm dying," Felicity interrupted dramatically, uncurling from her ball to flop open across the bed, puffing her hair out of her face before lying perfectly still.

"Oh, really? Well, excuse me, doctor coming through-" John crawled onto the bed and under the covers Sherlock was still holding up to examine his patient. Felicity faked death as John took her pulse. "Hmmm…" John mused, and shot a glance back at Sherlock before flipping his hand around and tickling the back of her neck. Felicity squealed, leaping up in a ball of limbs and fiery hair as she tackled John in an effort to get away. In turn, they fell into Sherlock, making him sprawl out onto the bed, all of the air leaving his lungs in a _whoosh._

John didn't relent his attack however, switching to tickle Felicity's ribs. Whenever his hands skated off, they landed on Sherlock's sensitive sides, making the detective eventually roar with laughter at the sensation. Finally he got his wits about him enough to start tickling Felicity as well, changing their tickle battle to two against one. He found himself on his knees, at John's side, tickling Felicity mercilessly. The two of them bumped shoulders more than once, their hands brushing when they accidentally aimed for the same places as they concentrated on their task of tickling Felicity. "Oh! Uncle- please!" Felicity gasped after only a few minutes, laughing to the point of hyperventilating.

"Well, the diagnosis is in, Sherlock," John said, turning to smirk at him. The look on his face, so mischievous and content at the same time, made Sherlock feel something a bit more than fondness.

"What is the expert opinion?" Sherlock bantered back, sitting on his heels as John was, shooting an amused glance at Felicity. She was flat on her back gasping for air, still giggling here and there, eyes screwed shut in an attempt to calm down.

"She's definitely dead." John said with a straight face. Before he could stop himself, Sherlock snorted, actually _snorted _with laughter as Felicity started giggling again, her self-control instantly breaking. At Sherlock's reaction, John couldn't help but start laughing as well. It took the three of them a while to calm down completely- one would set the other two off if they thought something was particularly funny and then they'd have to start the whole process all over again.

"We have to get up, come on, stop that. We've got to go to the bank, remember?" John prompted after a solid fifteen minutes of the three of them lying sprawled across Sherlock's bed, trying to stop their laughter. At that thought, Felicity jerked upright in excitement, lost her balance, and toppled right off the bed with a resounding _thud _and a tangle of limbs_. _"Holy- Felicity are you ok?" John asked, sitting up as well, leaning over the edge of the bed. Sherlock scrambled up too, appearing on John's other side, worried that she had somehow hurt herself. He shouldn't have worried; Felicity was getting to her feet, brushing herself off briskly.

"He's right! We have to go the bank!" She crowed, her hyper mood replaced with excitement. "Come ooonn," she dragged out, grabbing their hands and tugging them out of bed at the same time.

"Are you going to let us change out of our pajamas at least?" Sherlock asked, still chuckling as Felicity dragged them to the kitchen. Felicity ignored him, skipping the last few paces to the barstools whilst singing, 'the bank, the bank, the bank' under her breath. Sherlock picked her up and set her on her own stool in their usual routine, making sure to fluff her ridiculously wild hair with all the nonchalance he could muster. She sent him a challenging smirk before standing up on her stool just to ruffle his own wild curls to prove her point.

"Ah, girls, settle down," John advised as he put the kettle on, feeling ridiculously like he was playing mother. It was worth it, though, especially when Felicity started giggling again at the look on Sherlock's face. "What's for breakfast?" John asked, turning to look at his flatmate and their guest. Felicity had plopped back down into her seat, still laughing at Sherlock who was now managing to sulk and grin at the same time. "Never mind," John told himself, automatically starting toast. Their breakfast was filled with giggles, banter, and once and a while a good dose of chuckling and snorting from Sherlock and John; the walls of 221B had probably never absorbed so much laughter. Throughout the whole meal Sherlock and John snuck glances at each other. It was very clear at that point that the atmosphere Felicity created had stirred something up inside them, something that needed to be addressed. While John was fairly sure of what it was and what he wanted it to become, Sherlock was still trying to identify what type of sentiment it was. He was trying to apply logic to something completely illogical, keeping him spinning in circles. Felicity, to her credit, noticed the trouble the two men were having and didn't comment. She didn't comment on their hands brushing as they reached for the kettle, for the butter knife, for the last piece of toast. She didn't mention how they stared at each other for far longer than necessary and with far too much tension.

Once breakfast was over, some of the silliness went away to be replaced with a need to wrap up the case. The three of them were still grinning like idiots and sometimes snickering behind their hands, but they were well aware that they had work to do. After visiting briefly with Mrs. Hudson, the three of them took a cab to the bank. To John and Sherlock's surprise, all of the staff remembered Felicity and struck up conversations with her as easy as could be. It appeared as if Felicity's charm had lasting effects and wasn't just superficial drivel. "Now, I think Felicity should be the one to break the news," John said as a man escorted them to the waiting area they'd been in before.

"Why? It's your case!" Felicity exclaimed, flashing a quick smile at a worker as they passed.

"Because you were the one to break the cipher and recognize where the pin had gone in the first place." John noted, and Felicity couldn't help but smile, a light blush coating her cheeks.

"I agree," Sherlock said, his tone leaving no room for argument- not that Felicity would have the chance to. The man escorting them dropped them off in front of Amanda's desk, cutting off their conversation. In the end, Sherlock got a taste of his own medicine because before any of them could speak, Sebastian rounded the corner.

"Ah! Sherlock Holmes- just the man I wanted to see." He said loudly, in that fake jovial tone that made John's skin crawl. "Could I have a word with you in my office? About the case?" As soon as he asked, John felt the sudden urge to snap at him, to tell him to piss off and take the check in his hand with him. He, at that moment, couldn't stand the idea of Sherlock being alone with a man like Sebastian. John had no idea where his reaction was coming from, but he couldn't say that the idea was one he couldn't agree with. Thankfully, Sherlock was always his cool and calm self.

"Of course- John and I need to explain a few more things to you," he said smoothly, stepping closer to John by just the tiniest of degrees, but the movement spoke volumes to John, Felicity, and, most importantly, Sebastian. "Felicity, can you take care of everything else?" Sherlock asked briskly, ignoring the look on Sebastian's face. Felicity sent him a brief but sunny smile in response, prompting Sebastian to take the two men into his office.

"Everything else? You must have an awfully important job to do," Amanda commented as the men left, and Felicity nearly laughed.

"You have no idea," she said simply, and Amanda raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" she prompted, going back to sorting paperwork on her desk, making sure to keep at least an eye on the little girl in front of her to show that she was still listening.

"Sherlock finished the case. It turns out that Mr. Van Coon was smuggling things from China." Felicity said calmly, and Amanda looked at her in surprise. "He was killed because he took something that he shouldn't have," Felicity continued when Amanda was too surprised to speak. Felicity had been nothing but smiles and happiness the last time they had met, and now this sweet little thing was speaking so matter-of-factly about death and stealing and murder that Amanda didn't know what to think. The first point in her mind was to worry about what this little thing was exposed to if she had been in the care of the detective Sebastian had consulted.

"That's a bit nasty for a sweet thing like you," Amanda commented, deciding to voice her fears in an effort to try and find out just how much Felicity had been exposed to. Felicity flashed her a winning smile, not at all put out.

"I've heard that Mr. Van Coon wasn't the nicest to you; I think that's nastier than a bunch of people stealing." She said simply, and Amanda couldn't help but smile.

"Well, you're right, I suppose. He wasn't the nicest of men, no. Why mention it?" Amanda asked curiously, starting to realize that this girl was just as smart as she was adorable.

"He gave you a present, didn't he? That pin in your hair looks like it's from him." Felicity commented sweetly, and Amanda reached up reflexively to remove it and place it in her palm so Felicity could see it over the edge of the desk. "Looks expensive," Felicity added as Amanda pinned it back into her hair.

"Oh, no, not this old thing. Eddie said he got it at a resale market in China- it's nothing fancy." Amanda disagreed.

"I wouldn't say that. That pin is actually really valuable." Felicity said blithely, and Amanda looked at her in surprise, an odd feeling building in her stomach. Normally, she wouldn't believe a child for an instant when it came to discussing the value of a worthless gift she'd received from her ex-boss, but for some reason Amanda felt inclined to listen to and to trust Felicity.

"Valuable? What's it worth?"

**OoOoOoO**

"Well, I have to say, Sherlock…that was prompt. I thought for sure this little problem would take you much longer." Sebastian said as Sherlock and John sat in front of his desk. Without Felicity sitting between Sherlock and John, a bit of tension permeated the air, or maybe it was just coming from John. He didn't know why he was so oddly _protective _of Sherlock and why he was feeling strangely jealous over him, but John was damned if he was going to let Sebastian continue to make comments and send looks at Sherlock that insinuated something a lot more than just the case. If he thought about the first time they'd met with Sebastian, John was sure that Sebastian had acted the same way once he got over his surprise with Felicity. The banker had stood very close to Sherlock and had brushed his arm to point things out more than once. The idea that John hadn't put a stop to it then made the doctor grit his teeth.

"You know who I am, Seb; your lack of faith is disappointing." Sherlock said crisply, and John very nearly bristled at Sherlock's comment. He had called the man 'Seb', a nickname, as if they were best mates since primary school and didn't have a care in the world. John was one of Sherlock's few true friends and was rewarded with titles like 'imbecile' and 'idiot', not ridiculously intimate nicknames. John was a much better person to Sherlock and had a lot more to offer the detective, and if it took something drastic to show that to the detective, John was willing to do it. Sebastian chuckled, making John's aggression worse.

"I suppose you're right. So- how did they break in?" He asked, propping his feet up on his desk and fixing his eyes on Sherlock as if he were a three-course meal.

"It was a one man job and they climbed up the side of the building and onto the window ledge. Put a bar across the window and you should be fine." John said, figuring it was time to inject himself into the conversation. The steadiness of his voice surprised him, even if his tone was a bit cool. He wasn't so angry more as he was determined. He caught Sherlock looking at him, just a glance, but he seemed satisfied, as if John was doing exactly what he wanted. In reality, Sherlock, in an effort to test the sentiment which he knew existed between himself and his flatmate, had decided to test John for signs of jealousy and was oddly pleased to report that it did exist, suggesting that John-

"All the way up the building? Like Spiderman? Good lord," Sebastian chuckled, sliding the check across the desk with a dramatic flair. He'd also shot John a look, one that was far from impressed with the doctor's presence. "Well, that's the rest of your reward, then." He needlessly explained, gesturing to his desktop with a slightly shrewd expression. "I know you say that you don't need an incentive, Sherlock, but I treat my friends well. Besides, if I have another problem I may just need you to come back." Sebastian said, and John swore that the banker looked up at Sherlock through his lashes. The outright flirting made John see red.

"Do you always use money to gain your friends?" The comment slipped out before John could stop it. Sherlock's head snapped around to stare at John with a half surprised, half proud expression as Sebastian turned to glare at John, his expression furious. Before he could say another word, a woman started screaming outside of the office.

"Jesus-!" Sebastian leapt to his feet and dashed out the door, leaving Sherlock and John alone for a moment. Sherlock slipped the check off the desk with a smirk, tucking it into his jacket before standing up.

"And you say that _I _need to work on my people skills, John," he said nonchalantly, directing a more mischievous smirk at John before striding out of the office. For a moment, John's mind was blank before he hauled himself out of his chair and after Sherlock. He was standing right outside of the door, watching with obvious amusement as Felicity grinned at Amanda, Van Coon's ex-secretary as she continued to scream and laugh in shock as she stared at her hairpin. Sebastian was trying to ask her what was wrong, but was getting nowhere.

"If anyone needs to work on their people skills, it's Sebastian," John said lowly to Sherlock, still watching the banker with narrowed eyes. Sherlock turned to look at him, expression cautious. "He treats you like a piece of meat," John very nearly growled, and Sherlock's eyes seemed to glow.

"And you would treat me differently?" he asked carefully, his eyes raking over John briefly before settling back on his face. John barely resisted the urge to lean closer to his flatmate, remembering dimly that they were in public.

"You know I do," John said darkly, "and you know I'd treat you even better, given the chance." The words fell from his lips before he could stop them, before he could stop and think about the fact that normal flatmates, normal colleagues, would NOT say that sort of thing to each other, but John couldn't help it. He had to vent his anger at Sebastian's obvious innuendos somehow. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at John's confession, darting over his face as if to check for sincerity. When he found it, Sherlock swallowed hard. It was now clear to him that the sentiment between John and himself was love, lust, and irrevocable trust. The realization hit him like a wrecking ball, his heart fluttering frantically when John smiled at him, his eyes crinkling up in the corners as he saw the recognition on Sherlock's face.

"Ready to go?" Felicity's voice popped the bubble of their own little world, and both men automatically looked down at her. Felicity was smiling sweetly at them, more than aware of what had just gone on between them but was choosing not to comment on it. Sebastian was talking animatedly with Amanda, his anger at John's cheek long forgotten now that the prospect of money, _lots _of money, was right in front of his face. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Yes, we are ready to depart." He said, and Felicity smiled wider, if possible.

"Great!" She chirped, taking both of their hands and tugging, getting them to walk side by side, Felicity between them. She wasn't keeping them from their previous moment; to the contrary, she was keeping the two of them linked, even though they weren't actually touching. Maybe, someday soon, they could bridge the tiny gap that lay between them and they could join hands without a little girl helping them. That was what Felicity hoped for, anyway. To continue her mischief, Felicity insisted that she wanted a window seat when they got a cab, forcing the two men to sit side by side. She stood on the upholstery and gazed out at the city of London, taking advantage of the reflection of the two men in the window from time to time.

Sitting next to each other, with their shoulders brushing, Sherlock's thoughts raced as he tried to think. Felicity would be more than willing to stay with Mrs. Hudson for a bit if he asked her to so she wouldn't have to listen to Sherlock and John talk out this unprecedented step in their relationship. Once it was just the two of them alone in their flat… He mentally chased away ideas that blossomed in his mind, trying not to flush. Sherlock, for all of his genius, was completely clueless when it came to the world of relationships and, so help him, sex. He'd never been kissed, had never been on a date, and he hadn't held anyone's hand but his Mummy's. The idea of it used to alarm him, but he knew for sure that John would be a patient teacher. After taking another moment to chase away the idea of John 'teaching' him anything, Sherlock glanced at his companion and received a shock.

John was gazing at him, a soft smile on his face as he watched the detective think furiously. John, unlike Sherlock, had dated a multitude of people, both men and women. He was of the belief that if you loved someone, you should demonstrate that love, regardless of the sex of the individual; and he had never loved anyone the way he loved Sherlock. Even when he was the angriest he'd ever been at Sherlock he still managed to feel affectionate (and that was saying something, living with Sherlock Holmes).The military had given John endless patience, and he knew that he and Sherlock would talk when they were ready. He didn't want to rush things with the detective, but he was being so uncharacteristically confused that all John wanted to do was lean over and-

A loud gasp from Felicity jerked both men out of their process of leaning closer and closer to each other, intent clear on their faces. She was sitting down now, but she was staring out the window in shock, and for very good reason.

Standing on their stoop, his expression as dark as a thundercloud, was Charley Muller.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Hello all of you wonderful, amazing people! What did you think? What do you think now? Maybe I can read your minds if I focus hard enough...**

**I hope the tickle-fight wasn't too creepy for you! I had that part meticulously edited and remember, they are like FAMILY. There is no intended pedophilia here! Also, how was the Johnlock? I've never written it before and this is my first leap into a slash pairing, so I hope it was ok! However, this is not my first leap into cliffhangers, so MUAHHAHAHAHA I AM MOFFAATTTT**

**IMPORTANT: THIS IS PROBABLY MY LAST UPDATE UNTIL I GET SETTLED INTO COLLEGE- ROUGHLY A WEEK OR SO- SO DON'T GIVE UP ON ME! I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO GIVE YOU ALL SO DON'T LEAVE ME, PLEASE! THERE IS MUCH MORE DRAMA/ANGST/LOVE/SEXUAL TENSION TO COME**

**If I just broke a few hearts, it's ok, cause ya'll break mine every time you review. If you want to keep punishing your author (NOT LIKE IRENE...unless that's what you like) keep sending her reviews because I nearly cried the last update.**

**As always, louisuperwholocked is the bestest beta/person/friend ever and she helped me A LOT on this chapter. Lots of thanks to you, Louise!**


	11. Chapter 11

Before Sherlock or John could react any further than staring at Charley in surprise, Felicity got out of the cab, her fingers trembling a bit on the doorframe. In all the whirlwind and excitement of staying with Sherlock and John, Felicity had completely forgotten about Charley. Guilt roared up in her at Charley's expression as she crossed to him; she had figured that the only reason he was here was that he'd somehow found out that the trip was a fake, forcing him to hunt his sister down. He had probably been panicked as he tried to find out where she had gone. As usual, she executed her plans perfectly but was not at all prepared for the repercussions of Charley finding out about them. The last time this had happened, Charley had thought she was dead. She came to a stop in front of him, already ducking her head in shame as Sherlock and John hastily got out of their cab and paid the fare, their moment completely forgotten. "Felicity. Georgiana. Muller. What are you doing here?" Charley asked in a painfully slow and angry voice.

"I'm staying with my friends?" Felicity had plans to speak clearly, to let a calm attitude sound everything, but her voice betrayed her and it came out more like a question.

"Felicity, you ran away from school without telling ANYONE where you were going to put yourself upon two people you barely know!" Charley yelled, and Felicity took a deep breath, holding her head high.

"Charley, I know that what I did was wrong and irresponsible, and that you have every right to be angry, but Sherlock and John are my best friends and understand and care for me a lot more than most people. You know that." She said firmly, and Charley groaned, rubbing his face.

"Felicity, it's ok that you went to friends, it was _good _that you went to people you trusted, but you can't put yourself upon people like that, not to mention for three days!" Charley cried, exasperated. "Speaking of three days- you two," he said dangerously, pointing at Sherlock and John, his anger flashing in his eyes anew, "you find a little girl on your doorstep, unaccompanied, and you _don't _try to contact her _family? _What were you going to do, keep her until I finally figured out where she was?" He spluttered, looking at the two men with distrust. He had thought that Sherlock and John were good people, especially after they solved his case and returned all of his and Felicity's possessions, but he was very suspicious of their lack of responsibility towards making sure Felicity was safe and where she belonged.

"Might I have a word with you for a moment?" Sherlock asked, the picture of calmness, and Charley blinked at his response. The composed sincerity on Sherlock's face told Charley that at least the detective was taking this seriously, he might as well find out what the man wanted to talk about.

"Fee, _stay here." _Charley told her sternly, before stepping around her and John and following Sherlock down the street until John and Felicity were out of earshot. "Well?" Charley asked as Sherlock paused for a moment, trying to find the words he wanted to say. Sherlock was not a speech maker and he did not usually do what he was about to do, but he wanted to speak on Felicity's behalf and his own social awkwardness was not going to stop him.

"When Felicity showed up on my doorstep three days ago, I was naturally worried as to how she got to London and why she was alone. I obviously got her off the street and brought her inside. I was going to ask how and why she'd come, but something stopped me." Sherlock took a breath, pleased that Charley could understand that he had to form the correct words and wasn't wasting his time. The soldier was listening attentively, his anger, for the moment, draining away. "From the moment I opened the door up until now, I've noticed how _happy _Felicity was. I had a difficult time being understood as a child, just like Felicity, and when I saw that happiness in her I didn't want to take it away. Felicity deserves happiness and if I could give it to her, I was going to. She is one of the most bright, caring people I know, but your sister is also very vulnerable. She trusts John and me, and we are on the very short list of people that she has let into her life. We are her friends and I want Felicity to grow up knowing that people like her DO have friends and that you can trust them when you need them. That is why John and I were prepared to let her stay for the week. I apologize for any distress her disappearance may have caused you." Sherlock finished, shoving his sentiment away once he'd wrangled out all of its usefulness.

"Wow," was the first thing Charley managed to say as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the ground. "That is the nicest thing I have ever heard anyone say about my sister," he added, looking up and treating Sherlock to a warm, grateful smile. "If you are willing to help my sister grow up happy and healthy, then I am more than in your debt. Thank you," Charley said, offering his hand for Sherlock to shake. Sherlock didn't hesitate to return the gesture. "Right," Charley said as they started back. "Now comes the hard part- Felicity knows that what she does is wrong, but that doesn't stop her from doing it again." He sighed, rubbing his face. "How am I supposed to play parent when no punishment works?"

Sherlock didn't answer, and the two of them pulled up to John and Felicity. Charley crouched down to her level, his face stern. "Charley, I'm _really _sorry. I just- Ms. Millan- I was better off here!" Felicity said anxiously, twisting her hands together.

"Felicity, it was fine that you went to people you trusted, I don't want you to think that doing something like that is wrong, ok? But you need to talk to me next time; you need to ask. You can't masquerade under these incredible plans and fool everyone cause that makes it really hard to know where you are. You need to talk to me before you assume that I won't let you do something, ok?" Charley explained, and Felicity hugged him tight, burying her face into his neck.

"I missed you," it came out muffled, but her words were still sweet as she hung onto Charley with all her might. He chuckled in response, kissing her hair a few times.

"I know. I missed you too, Fee." He said, kissing her forehead when she pulled back to give him a weak smile. "What have you been doing while I was away, hmm? Plotting and terrorizing, am I right?" he asked, scooping her up and putting her on his shoulder. Felicity scoffed, her smile getting stronger.

"Yes, the usual." She said sarcastically. "In all seriousness, no. John and Sherlock have shown me around the city. We ran a few experiments and I met their really nice landlady." Felicity continued, edging her way around the fact that she'd actually helped them solve a case. Charley wasn't ready to hear about that. Felicity could see the trust on his face after his talk with Sherlock, and she didn't want to give Charley any reason to not trust her best friends.

"Well, thanks for keeping her out of trouble." Charley said to Sherlock and John, forcing the two men to put on perfect poker faces. It was difficult, especially with Felicity grinning at them like the Cheshire Cat without Charley noticing.

"It was our pleasure; she's been a wonderful guest. Would you like to come up for a cuppa? You look tired," John launched into changing the subject as soon as possible and Charley nodded gratefully. "You'll have to mind the books a bit, sorry about that. They're from Sherlock's last case." John continued as they climbed the stairs, and Felicity fought down the urge to giggle at the elephant, or, to be more precise, books in the room. John's lie was excellent, though, because now any lingering bits and pieces of the case could now be written off as something Felicity wasn't involved in. John was hiding the evidence of their lie in plain sight.

"That's a lot of books," Charley commented as he set Felicity down upon entering Sherlock and John's cramped flat. He looked around him in amazement with a tinge of worry, especially when he noticed the skull. While Sherlock's speech had calmed his fears about his intentions, his flat was a different story. There were odd objects in odd places, some of them looking quite dangerous. Felicity smiled at him though, and that was Charley's reminder to relax. Felicity had been and probably always would be happy there, and that was more than enough reassurance for Charley.

"The police are coming tomorrow to pick them up." Sherlock said dismissively, as if saying so would erase the books at that very moment. He hung up his coat, collecting the garments from everyone else as well.

"Please, have a seat," John requested, heading for the kitchen as he gestured aimlessly into the living room, unsure of the state of adequate seating arrangements. Felicity decided to take the free will out of Charley's hands; she tugged him over to the couch, snuggling up next to him as Sherlock leaned on a stack of books.

"I trust your business with the army went well?" Sherlock asked, grasping at straws for conversation talking points. Social hour really wasn't his forte. Charley rubbed his face with a healthy sigh.

"Alright, for the most part. There were a few dips in the road, but nothing too serious. It's always a taxing experience, though, having all these blokes in your face shouting on and on about honor and duty and respect…thank you," he added gratefully as John came in, passing him a mug of tea.

"Business for the army is always a drag; I'll bet you're exhausted." John commented, leaning against the books next to Sherlock, trying to ignore how he was hyper aware of how he was only inches away from the detective's lanky body. He could have sworn that Sherlock shifted a bit closer on purpose, his arm dangerously close to brushing John's. Charley gave a grunt of agreement as he let his head fall back, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

"We should go home then, so you can sleep." Felicity said, sounding guilty as she nudged Charley's arm. A brief, tired smile flashed across his face and he cracked an eye open, studying Felicity.

"Are you sure, Fee? We could stay a bit longer if you like." He offered, and Felicity smiled but shook her head.

"You've been awake for almost twenty four hours- you need sleep. Let me get my backpack," she insisted, sliding out from underneath his arm and padding down the hallway to Sherlock's room where her belongings were. With a low groan Charley sat up and downed the tea, giving the two men watching him another tired smile. The soldier got up and slowly stretched, wincing as muscles pulled and twanged.

"Thank you again, thank you so much for everything you did. Your kindness is unbelievable." Charley said, offering his hand to John and then Sherlock to shake.

"We will always be here for Felicity." Sherlock replied as the girl in question came around the corner, her coat on and her backpack sitting evenly on her shoulders. "And you are welcome back anytime." He added as she came to a stop in front of the three men. Felicity looked at Sherlock a moment, then John. She seemed to be thinking hard, as if she was trying to decide on something. Her eyes flickered over how the men stood next to each other, almost touching but not quite and she smiled to herself, her intense expression falling away. John resisted the urge to shift his feet and cough- Felicity was observant, and he didn't want Charley to notice what she was observing because John wasn't even sure of what he was doing.

"I had a lot of fun and learned so much from you two. Thank you for everything." Felicity said sincerely, her face oddly calm. She was happy that Charley was back and that she was going to go home with him, but at the same time she knew that she would very dearly miss her detective and her doctor at 221B Baker Street. The logic side of her brain told her that this wasn't their final goodbye and that they would probably see each other again, but her emotional side didn't care. She had to leave Sherlock's world of danger and fun to go back to reality and that made her unhappy. She'd have to go back to boring old primary school instead of doing what she really wanted.

John crouched in front of her and just smiled, opening his arms wide. Unable to resist, Felicity gave him a big hug, secretly inhaling the scent of tea and antiseptic off of John's jumper so that she could recall it later when she missed him. "You come and visit, alright? But make sure your brother knows when you're leaving and let us know when you're coming." John requested through a chuckle, and Felicity gave him a solemn nod when he released her, rising back up to his full height. Then Felicity looked over to Sherlock. Normally, the detective was not one for hugs and goodbyes and sticky, overpowering sentiment but for Felicity he would always make an exception. He copied John, folding his personal sun into his arms. He had known (obviously) that this moment was going to happen, had been painfully aware that he would have to say goodbye, but the child in him was selfish and had denied it as much as possible. Sherlock was aware that the idea of having Felicity as his own, possibly his own child, was absolutely ridiculous; she was well looked after and well-loved with Charley. Despite that, a tiny part of Sherlock still wanted that, and he didn't know why.

"Write to me, and check John's blog. I may require your assistance on a case," Sherlock told her, and Felicity nodded into his shirt. "Remember what I've told you," Sherlock said finally, working to keep his face smooth as he let her go. Felicity's smile was a bit more sad at that comment, but she gave him another strong nod, stepping back and taking Charley's hand.

"It looks like I'm buying stamps then," Charley said, trying to cheer Felicity by giving her hand a quick squeeze. "You ready? Got everything?" He asked when she just looked at him.

"I'm ready to leave." Felicity affirmed calmly.

"Alright, then. Thank you again for everything." Charley said as the two men of Baker Street walked them down the stairs and out the front door. They all lingered on the stoop, unwilling to separate.

"It was our pleasure. I hope you get back to Sussex at a decent time." John managed meekly, unsure of what else to say. Charley gave them a slightly awkward smile before hailing a taxi. He and Felicity slid into the back and Felicity had only a brief moment to wave before the taxi pulled away, melding into the traffic on the street. John sighed as the taxi completely disappeared. "I'll miss her." He said, half to himself, before glancing at Sherlock. The detective was staring off down the street, expression carefully controlled. Then he pulled out his phone briskly, firing off a text.

"There's no use standing out here in the cold, John." He said flatly before turning around and heading back into the flat. Now that Felicity was gone, all he wanted was work to distract him from what was missing in his life.

**OoOoOoO**

Even though Felicity and Sherlock were separated, they did not lose contact. They wrote letters to each other every week about what the other was working on (usually experiments were discussed) and what life was like (dull, boring, and mundane were adjectives that were often used). Whenever Felicity could get online she always looked at John's blog, even though Sherlock wrote to her about his cases in great detail. Her mind was on fire with the idea of being a detective, solving problems and crimes; doing something that was actually _fun._

Charley let Felicity go to London for a day when she turned eight as a present for not sneaking back to the detective since the last time she'd been there. Felicity had a blast; she spent a good chunk of her time just lying around the flat with John and Sherlock (they didn't have a case), but she also had a longer conversation over tea with Mycroft. Felicity also met Donovan (who was taken aback with a child as nice as Felicity was with the intellect of Sherlock Holmes) and Anderson (Sherlock verbally abused him for a good five minutes after he called Felicity a 'mini-freak'.) It was the best birthday Felicity had ever had; she was with people she liked who also liked each other. The time in London helped Charley get better acquainted with Sherlock and John to a point where he realized just how important they were to Felicity. After her birthday, they settled back into their quiet routine. Felicity went to school, Charley went to work, and when they had free time they spent it with each other. Then, one day, when Felicity was checking the mail box to see if Sherlock had posted her another letter, she found a different one instead. It was addressed to Charley, was from the army, and was so heavy and official looking that she instantly knew what it was.

_It was a deployment letter. _

"Felicity? Are you getting the mail?" Charley called from the kitchen when he heard the front screen door slam shut as Felicity's numb fingers released it. She stared at the letter, fear boiling up inside her before she could stop it. Charley was being _deployed. _He was going to leave her to go fight in a dangerous, ridiculous war. He wouldn't be safe there- he could get hurt or worse, killed. To top it off, where was she going to go? She was still stuck in schools, skipping grades in an effort to get out, but she wasn't nearly close enough to graduate now and Charley wouldn't let her live on her own. What were they going to do? Why was this happening? Where was Charley being deployed? Questions swarmed around her head until she felt nauseous. "Fee?" Charley called, sounding a bit more worried when Felicity didn't answer him. Seconds later, he appeared behind the screen door. "Fee, what are you doing? You're tea is getting—cold." He cut himself off as he ducked out the door and found out what Felicity was staring at. For a moment, neither of them said anything. A car idled by, and a group of kids playing down the block screamed happily. The screams sounded painful to Felicity as the world started to swirl. _Charley was being deployed._

"You can't go," Felicity said through clenched teeth as she tried to keep herself together. Now was not the time to scream and cry and sob. Only children acted that way; she could and needed to handle this like an adult.

"Fee, let's go inside and talk about it. It might not even be a deployment letter." Charley soothed, putting an arm around her and steering her back into the house and to the kitchen table. Fee curled into a ball on her chair, ignoring her cup of tea and watched Charley with wide, slightly frightened eyes as he tore the letter open and glanced over the official papers once, twice, three times. With each pass his shoulders sagged lower and lower until he had to put the letter down to rub his face. Felicity's arm shot out and she snagged the letter to read it for herself, to confirm her worst fears were in fact real.

_To the attention of Charles F. Muller,_

_The 1__st__ battalion of the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers has been requested to funnel reinforcements to NATO troops stationed at the United States Army Base of Camp Doha in Kuwait. Your registration and performance in your unit has made you eligible for deployment effective in one month's time. The duration of your deployment will be anywhere from three to six years, to be decided as conditions change on the ground at Camp Doha. Please respond to this letter with the forms included to prepare you for your deployment by-_

Felicity didn't even bother to read further- she didn't think she could handle it. The letter fell from her hands and back onto the table as, despite her best efforts, tears welled up in her eyes and streaked down her face. Charley was going to leave- he was going to leave her. He couldn't go, not now and not ever; he was all she had left and she was all that he had left- this _couldn't _happen—

Charley got up and hugged Felicity close, burying his face into her neck as she sobbed and sobbed, holding on to him as tightly as she could. A few of his own tears escaped and fell into her hair as he tried to stay strong, for Felicity's sake. He didn't want to leave her, he was _terrified _of leaving her, but he had to go. "Felicity, it'll be ok. I promise." Charley stammered, pulling back to wipe the tears off of her cheeks. Felicity shook her head frantically, fresh tears trailing down to replace the ones he'd wiped away. "Fee, come on now. You know that I'll be fine. It'll all be ok." He soothed, rubbing her back when she embraced him again, holding on with all her strength.

"I don't want you to go," She managed to gasp inbetween sobs. "You're my only family—Kuwait is dangerous—you'll be killed-!"

"Hey, Fee, don't think like that. I'm part of an armored unit and I'll be on a US base-I bet I won't even see much action. I'll miss you lots, but I'll always, _always _come back. You're my family Fee, and I couldn't possibly stay away for long." Charley tried to keep soothing her, but his voice cracked on the word 'family' and he buried his face back into her hair, shuddering as he forced himself to take deep breaths. He was a soldier- he had to handle this. Once Felicity calmed down, she would handle it like an adult and that would help him push on. They stayed like that for a long time, sprawled on the kitchen floor and holding each other close. Finally, Felicity's sobs died away and Charley forced himself to accept the reality of his situation. He was going to Kuwait, possibly for six _years. _Regardless of his sentence, he was determined to get through it as fast as possible so that he could get home to his sister, his whole world.

Over the next few days, Felicity didn't go to school. She followed Charley everywhere, went with him on every errand. She went with him to meet the superintendent of the private, year round academy she would be attending, went with him to his local Fusilier office to fill out the paperwork, and even went with him to do even the most mundane tasks like going to the shops. Her heart had broken with the news, but she had forcibly stitched her heart back together and buried it deep down inside herself where no one got in and no one got out. She was terrified for the future, terrified for her fate and more so for Charley's, but she didn't let it show; she couldn't. Her emotions, _sentiment, _were disadvantages. She needed to think clearly and rationally for the days, the years, ahead. She needed to become an entirely different person, someone who didn't feel, someone who vanished into the background. From the glimpse she'd gotten of Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies, the school she'd be attending, Felicity had a bad feeling that things there would be worse than they were for her at her current school. The school was the only place Charley could find that could keep Felicity all year round. It was an older school with stringent regulations. The place had its own security team, it was in the middle of nowhere, and only immediate family members were allowed to contact or see attendees. The school prided itself on 'its focus on education', but Felicity felt as if they should be more proud of their level of security than of their quality of education. The Prime Minister could safely stay there for goodness sake. It wasn't a school; it was a prison.

She couldn't be extraordinary anymore; she couldn't be herself, not if she were to survive there.

The house was packed up. Most of their things went into storage, with the exception of Charley's belongings and Felicity's. They were going their separate ways and they weren't sure when they would see each other again. Charley was set to deploy two days before Felicity needed to be at Ruth's Academy, so their neighbor, Mrs. Millan, volunteered to look after Felicity on the day where she'd be alone. She went with Felicity the day that Charley was boarding his bus to head to an airport where he would be flown to Camp Doha in Kuwait. Most of the men getting on the bus with Charley had very few people seeing them off- a girlfriend, a best friend, a parent- but their goodbyes were short, to the point. That left twenty so men on the bus, watching through the windows as Charley knelt in front of Felicity, in his uniform, ready to depart. Felicity was pale, so pale, as she stood lifelessly in front of him, head bowed as she listened to everything he had to say.

"Felicity, I love you with all my heart. You know that. I'm leaving for a while, but I _will _come back. I'll come back whenever I can to visit you. I'll write you, I'll send you things, and I know that you'll do the same for me. I know this is hard- and you and I both know that things won't get better for a long time. But I. Will. Come. Back." He said very softly, and by the time he was done fresh tears were silently streaking down Felicity's face. Charley wrapped her in his arms, planting a kiss on the side of her head. "I love you." He repeated, using the pad of his thumb to clear her face free of tears.

"I love you too." Felicity whispered, seemingly drawing herself up and shutting her emotions down. "Bye, Charley." She added as he stood up, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. He gave her one last sad smile before boarding the bus, his head bowed. Felicity stood in the exact same spot as the bus started up and drove off. She stood there until the bus wasn't even visible anymore. Only when Mrs. Millan started to get impatient did Felicity turn and follow her back to the car. She was silent the whole way back to her house, was silent throughout dinner, and didn't speak at all the next day when Mrs. Millan dropped her off at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies. She didn't talk to her teachers or her roommate either. The only people she would have talked to at that moment, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, were barred from contacting her because they weren't family. They didn't even know where she was now- and in a moment of depression, Felicity wasn't even sure if they ever would.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you for your patience! My classes officially start tomorrow, but I've already been very busy getting prepared and getting my books and meeting people and everything- BUT- I did have time to whip this up for you! So yes, the adventure in London is OVER, but DUN DUN DUNNN plot twist! Charley is gone and so is Felicity- how do you think Sherlock will take to that? I'm sorry to attack you with fluff and then angst and then sad fluff, but things will get a lot more interesting from here on out...MUAHAHAHAHHA**

**I've got plenty of chapters written, so don't worry about that. Worry about me having time to update! I will try to find time to give all you lovely people the story you deserve. Please keep faith in me- I love this story and all of you!**

**Reviews are awesome. Reviews are cool. Inbetween classes I'll be checking my email to see if I've gotten any... :)**

**Props to my beta, Louise, who is louisuperwholocked on Tumblr.**


	12. Chapter 12

Two weeks later, in London, Sherlock was extremely upset over his latest case: the disappearance of Felicity Muller. She hadn't written, called, visited or emailed him in almost a month. Something was wrong- Sherlock _knew _that something was wrong. Felicity always contacted him at least twice a week and now there was nothing. Sherlock was determined to find out what was wrong, no matter what the cost. John picked up on his worries (he had some of his own) and suggested that they take a trip down to Sussex to investigate. Sherlock was more than willing to oblige and by the time they'd survived the car ride down, Sherlock was practically twitching with concealed emotions; curiosity, nervousness, and worry. When they pulled up at the house, Sherlock's heart sank. The blinds were drawn, the lawn was starting to become overgrown, and it was obvious to him that no one was living there. Regardless, he went up to the door, picked the lock, and went inside.

It was empty. It was all empty. Any furniture that was left was covered by old sheets. Dust was beginning to settle. Felicity and Charley Muller had vanished. Why? Possibilities ran through Sherlock's mind as he numbly watched John look in the empty kitchen cabinets, worry written all over the doctor's face. Sherlock's mind automatically created a timeline, regardless of his emotions. He'd last written to Felicity three weeks ago and there had been no response. Something must have happened around or directly after that time to make her and Charley disappear (if the layer of eloquent dust was anything to go by). If this was something as trivial as moving, Felicity would have contacted him and let him know of her change in address. Because the house was so neatly cleaned up they clearly weren't in any danger, so Sherlock could rule out kidnapping or murder. Why did Felicity and Charley Muller disappear? "Oh," Sherlock murmured to himself as an idea slammed into his mind palace. _The neighbor. _Mrs. Millan had to know something, anything about what had happened to the Mullers. With that thought in mind, Sherlock turned on his heel to go, John following behind him hastily.

"Sherlock? What's wrong; do you know where they went?" John asked, struggling to keep pace as Sherlock crossed the lawn in large, angry strides as he marched up to the neighbors' front door.

"I don't, but she will." Sherlock said, his voice oddly tight as he pounded on the door. After a moment, the door opened underneath Sherlock's fist. An extremely thin woman in her late fifties answered the door, a cigarette clasped in her bony fingers. A tiny, yippy little dog barked at them from around her ankles. Wasting no time, Sherlock leaned ridiculously close, unleashing one of his more vicious stares on Mrs. Millan. "Where are the Mullers?" Sherlock demanded, resisting the urge to inhale the second-hand smoke from her cigarette. The woman gaped at him like a fish, her eyes widening in terror for a moment. "_Where did they go?" _Sherlock very nearly yelled, voice terrible.

"Charley was deployed and he shipped his sister off to this school-" Mrs. Millan babbled frantically, terrified of the imposing man on her doorstep. Sherlock's eyes darkened. _Deployed? _If Charley truly had been deployed, Felicity was most likely in a year-round boarding school. The idea made him shudder. Sherlock was not unfamiliar with boarding schools; he'd been in plenty. They were the worst places for geniuses like himself and Felicity. They were stifling, resentful, and downright dangerous in the right conditions. The thought of Felicity being in a place like that made him even more furious than before.

"Deployed? Where?" John asked, seeing the almost murderous look on Sherlock's face. His own heart was contracting painfully with the news- Charley and Felicity were separated, most likely for an ungodly amount of time if John's own tour in Afghanistan was anything to go by; he'd been there for three years straight. For a family of two, that was a long, long time.

"Kuwait, I-I think. He kept talking about NATO troops and some weird camp named Doha." Mrs. Millan spit out frantically, eyeing Sherlock uneasily as if she was half considering flicking her hot cigarette ash in his eye. Sherlock retreated from her personal space to draw himself up to his full, intimidating height as his mind raced. The US Army base named Camp Doha was near the Kuwait-Iraq border. It didn't see too much action, but if Charley was being deployed under NATO he could be moved around at any time. Most NATO deployments came quickly and without much warning. Charley most likely received the letter and then had to scramble to make all of the necessary arrangements, leaving poor Felicity no time to do anything more than panic about her brother's departure. Sherlock's pulse increased as his mind flicked back to Mrs. Millan's previous statements about Felicity.

"What school was Felicity sent to?" He barked, and the neighbor cowered slightly at his tone.

"Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies; Charley signed a six year contract." She very nearly whispered. With a low growl, Sherlock whipped out his phone to find out more about the school. John stepped forward, more questions pouring out of him.

"Is that how long his deployment is- six years?" He asked, and Sherlock gave a distressed twitch at the question. He had only been in boarding schools for two years before he tested out, and that time alone had been pure hell. To make matters worse, Felicity would be barred from testing out because the boarding school would be her one and only home until Charley could return. Mrs. Millan looked back and forth from Sherlock to John before answering, still uneasy.

"His letter said three to six I think-" She cowered again as Sherlock made an angry noise as he read information on his phone about the boarding school. Ruth's had a reputation for stringent rules and a hard, forced education. They were a year-round boarding school that put an emphasis on educating. Located in Swindon, the school was purposefully isolated from most of society and was built like a prison. Most children that were sent there were automatically hired into mysterious jobs and positions within governments and corporations, never to be heard of again. John peeked around his arm to read the text on Sherlock's screen and swore under his breath, fists clenching. Sherlock whirled and stalked back towards the car, leaving John to utter a quick explanation to the neighbor before darting after him.

"Now what do we do?" John asked as Sherlock threw the car into drive. Sherlock took a calming breath, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Internally, he was deathly afraid of losing Felicity. This little misunderstanding had frightened him a lot more than he would admit. It was hard for him to think rationally and put together a plan.

"Obvious. We visit her and find out the whole story." Sherlock said through clenched teeth as he fought to control himself. He knew that the separation from her only family would make Felicity very unhappy in a place that would crush her spirit. Sherlock wanted to prevent the harm he knew would be coming her way so much that he would have run all the way there if that was what it took. Horrible memories of his own childhood and days in boarding school only pushed his urge to protect his friend.

"Right, yeah. I'll call the surgery to take off. Should I phone Mycroft too, ask him if he can send us any details about Charley's deployment? He could probably put a security detail on Charley for us." John brainstormed out loud as he pulled out his mobile. His comment lifted Sherlock out of his black mood slightly and he couldn't help but beam at him. John always knew just what to do- it was refreshing.

"Please," Sherlock requested, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. Panic was still making his heart sing and Sherlock knew that he wouldn't calm down until he was able to see Felicity again. The two men drove for the rest of the day as morning passed into afternoon. It was getting threateningly close to dusk as they finally pulled up the long, unforgiving driveway to Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies. The hedges along the road were high and meticulously trimmed, seemingly resembling a wall. At the end of the drive there was a roundabout. In the middle there was a large, black statue of the Ruth the academy was named for. The roundabout led up to a tall, cast-iron gate that was embedded into concrete walls. The walls seemed to be about five feet thick, with cast-iron fencing along the top to match the gate. The walls surrounded the entire property and were wide enough to allow guards to patrol along the top of the wall, ever watchful for people trying to come in or students trying to get out. Sherlock pulled the car around to a speaker panel by the gate, ever aware that cameras pivoted to follow them. He pushed the intercom button.

"Hello and welcome to Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies. How may I help you, sir?" A snappy, to business voice shot through the speaker immediately.

"Yes, I'm here to visit a student; Felicity Muller." Sherlock said calmly, and he could hear the sound of a keyboard clacking furiously.

"Your relation to the student?" The voice impugned through the speaker.

"Next of kin," Sherlock lied smoothly. He knew that it would be useless to pretend that he and John were related to Felicity, so he was going to try an older, sneakier trick. Next of kin privileges were dictated by will only, and no school that he had ever heard of kept a student's family's _will _on file. There was a pause.

"There are no next of kin listed for Felicity Georgiana Muller. Please leave at once." The voice ordered, suddenly gaining steel. Sherlock scowled at the speaker, furious that his plan had fallen through.

"Listen- Felicity's brother was recently deployed overseas and my colleague and I are the only friends of the family. The deployment was very sudden and we came to reassure Felicity- we only just heard the news today and came as soon as we could." Sherlock tried the truth next, even letting some sentiment into his tone. There was another pause, and then a sigh.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but this academy's policy clearly states that only family members may contact or visit students. You are not family so you will not be admitted. Please leave." The speaker turned off before Sherlock could threaten and yell at the woman. Frustrated, Sherlock slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel, hissing through his teeth. For all of his great charm and power and skill, he couldn't get into a boarding school to see one of his best friends.

"Perhaps Mycroft could do something?" John suggested, glaring at the school off in distance through the gate. It was an unforgiving, multi-story castle of a place. It looked very cold, not at all like a school for young girls.

"Text him, see if he can do anything." Sherlock acquiesced after a moment, too furious to speak at first. Felicity was probably very upset and he could do nothing to help her. John sent off the message, leaving them to wait for a few anxious minutes. Sherlock spent the time staring down the camera with a particularly vicious look until John's phone buzzed. "Well?" Sherlock snapped before John had even opened his phone to check the message.

_Despite all of my efforts, there is nothing I can do. –MH_

John read off the message and Sherlock snarled under his breath, throwing the car into gear and peeling out. He drove angrily for a long time, John not daring to say anything until Sherlock slowed down to at least ten kilometers within the speed limit. "So what now? We're just going to give up?" John asked, and Sherlock growled under his breath.

"Of course not, John. As soon as we get home I will start finding a way to forge letters from Camp Doha, Kuwait. If the school thinks that the mail coming in is from Charley, we can write to Felicity as often as we need to." Sherlock lay out his plan, his hands flexing and releasing around the steering wheel. He was angry that he was reduced to only letters for communication with Felicity, especially during this rough period of her life. She would need more than a few words on paper to give her the strength to handle the terrors of a boarding school, but that was all he could hopefully give her.

Turns out, he couldn't even do that. Sherlock did days of research, stole, flirted and threatened his way into military ranks, hunted down specific pieces of paper, specific stamps, and specific addresses. He interviewed soldiers and broke back into the Muller's house to find a writing sample of Charley's. He practiced his writing, and created several false letters that seemed to be dead on convincing. The only response he got were letters from the school, telling him that his attempts at contacting a student that wasn't a family member was against the school's policies and that if he continued to try and contact Felicity they would call the police. Sherlock didn't have long to dwell on his loss, however. His next case with a serial bomber brought him face to face with his one enemy, Moriarty, and sufficiently distracted him. Without Felicity's cheerfulness and with the sudden onslaught of Moriarty, Sherlock sank back into the darkest of his moods, his contemplative depression only lifted briefly when he was on cases. In the back of his mind, the moment with John in the taxi lingered, but Sherlock's heart was gone, leaving him to retreat back into his anti-social walls for his own protection. Seeing this disappointed John, but he tried not to give up hope. He could still love his flatmate and, hopefully, his flatmate could still love him even if they weren't pursuing the emotions they'd discovered before.

Two other cases followed, cases that John decided to call _A Scandal in Belgravia _and _The Hounds of Baskerville. _He updated his blog frequently and with incredible detail in hopes that Felicity could somehow find a way to find the website. He never mentioned her on the site by name, for her own protection (especially with Moriarty about), and none of the comments that his blog received seemed to suggest that they were from Felicity. After those two cases, Moriarty launched his attack on Sherlock. He stole the crown jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and then organized a prison break at Pentonville. To finish his game, he executed a perfect smear campaign against Sherlock, destroying his reputation. With no other options, Sherlock had to take the fall. Literally.

**OoOoOoO**

"Oh my god, how stupid," a loud voice sneered, breaking Felicity's concentration. Almost a year had passed since she first arrived at Ruth's Academy for young ladies, and things weren't going well. None of the girls in school liked her. In their first few meetings, they'd thought that she was nice; they had even pitied Felicity for being separated from her brother. However, Felicity couldn't keep her unique brain a secret for very long. She'd answer questions in class, accidently comment on something that she shouldn't have known about, and aced classes that all of her other classmates had problems with. Accusations of cheating flew her way, but when it was obvious that she wasn't a cheater, just brilliant, incredible hate, scorn and jealousy rained down on Felicity.

Her roommates wouldn't live with her. Girls picked fights with her. Things slid downhill so fast that Felicity was given a single room and was advised not to talk to anyone. She was quickly shut out from everyone else, treated as a pariah. The isolation, for someone as bright and cheerful as Felicity, was torture. She found herself retreating into herself, putting on a hard, cold exterior. The happiness left. Felicity focused on her studies instead of having fun or talking with people, so when the loud sneer disrupted the library, her jaw clenched and her head shot up, ready to shoot a vitriolic comment someone's way. She pulled up short, however, when she saw a crowd of girls swarming around Christina Wellembry, her arch enemy. She was sneering down at a trash tabloid as girls peered around her, trying to see. Tabloids were forbidden at Ruth's unless family members brought them to students. If your family sent you any news from the outside world in the mail, you were instantly popular. Felicity's curiosity piqued. She hadn't heard any news from the real world since she started at the school last year. Any news was good news, right?

"Hey, wait a minute…I've seen this headline before…"Wellembry said with mock thoughtfulness, picking up the tabloid and crossing aggressively across the room to where Felicity was sitting, girls scattering out of her way. Wellembry shot her a vicious grin as she stopped in front of her, the other girls crowding around, starting to giggle and snigger. This was their entertainment, and Wellembry never disappointed them. Felicity cocked an eyebrow, sending Wellembry a stare that could freeze a lake. She was ready with a sharp comment to deal with her bully, but after that she never knew what Wellembry would do, and that scared her. She kept her cool glare on as Wellembry launched her attack. "This edition is all about you, Muller! It says '**FAKE GENIUS**' right there!" Wellembry said with mock admiration, slamming an edition of _The Sun _down in front of Felicity. Felicity took one look and froze.

_Sherlock was on the front cover._

She snatched up the paper, eyes blowing wide as she absorbed the headline; '**SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS**'. Her eyes raced over the pictures, the sub-headlines that hinted to a trial, a theft, and an actor, Richard Brook, but none of that mattered. Sherlock was dead. _Dead . _Why did he kill himself? Where was John- why didn't he stop him? Why didn't Mycroft stop him? Finally, why was the paper calling him a fake? Felicity knew deep in her heart that Sherlock was no fake, so why would he commit suicide? The question _why, why, why_ thrummed in her head as she abruptly stood up, her ice cold façade falling away, emotion roaring up to take its place. Her best friend in the world, Sherlock Holmes, was dead. She wanted to deny it, she wanted to rush to London to find out the truth, but Felicity knew that she was stuck and knew that Sherlock was gone and she couldn't handle that. Before Felicity could stop it, tears sprung from her eyes. She had been hoping that after she got out of Ruth's she could visit Sherlock, possibly train under him to become a detective too, and now she'd never see him again. Without that to look forward to, her stay at Ruth's seemed all the more unbearable. "Aww, did you _know _that roof-jumping freak? Did you _love _him?" Wellembry saw the tears, the weakness, and instantly pounced. She had encouraged the nickname 'Robot' for Felicity because normally she could never get a rise out of her. Seeing her victim completely breaking down with very little effort on Wellembry's part brought her immense satisfaction. Giggles erupted all around as more tears boiled over. Felicity left her books in the library and ran unthinkingly, pushing through the crowd and sprinting to her room, tears streaking down her face as she leaved a crowd of girls howling with laughter behind her.

Despair threatened to take over her as she slammed the door to her room shut, locking it. Only when Felicity was alone did she take a few shuddering breaths to force back her tears. Her display of emotion in the library would cost her for possibly the rest of her days at Ruth's- no one would ever let her forget it. She wanted to grieve for Sherlock, she wanted to scream and cry and completely disappear, but she couldn't allow herself that kind of release. Felicity had kept so many things bottled up inside her for this long that adding Sherlock's death would hurt her, but it wouldn't be difficult.

Taking deep breaths, she slid down the back of the door, flipping through the trashy tabloid to get to the story about Sherlock. She had to know what was going on so that she could take every little bit of Sherlock that would cause her sadness and lock it away for as long as she could. There was no question of holding it all inside or not; it was a matter of survival.

**OoOoOoO**

Sherlock stared out the window mindlessly, looking at the dark clouds that concealed the earth far below him. It had taken an incredible disguise and a bit of forgery to create an entirely new identity, but Sherlock had taken bitter inspiration from how Moriarty seamlessly created Richard Brook to help the detective come up with his new name, new life. His change into a different person was the only reason he was on a flight from London to Bogotá, Colombia.

Moriarty was dead, but his empire of crime remained, stretching across the globe, and it was up to Sherlock to destroy it. The burden seemed ridiculous for one man, and Sherlock would take no joy in mindlessly revealing crime and/or killing criminals when there was no puzzle, no game, and no chase. To make matters worse, there was also no army doctor at his side to help him. Sherlock longed for the long nights spent on cases when the two men would nearly pass out on each other with exhaustion; he missed the frantic chases and sprints through London. The sense of a partnership, the idea that he was not alone had helped Sherlock to become as successful as he had been before Moriarty tore him down. The fact that Moriarty had ruined him so easily and with such willing participation on Sherlock's part made the detective feel sick and fiercely angry. If Sherlock was sure of one thing, it was that he was not going to remain disgraced in the pages of history like Moriarty had planned. Sherlock had worked incredibly hard, through addiction and bad memories to build his name and to move on through life and he was not about to let Moriarty rip his life out of his hands and smash it to pieces.

Sherlock was going to fight.

He was going to destroy every crime syndicate on the planet; he would imprison or kill every single agent that Moriarty had in his web until the lingering threat was gone. Only then would he return home, home to John. The thought of his army doctor made Sherlock's already tender heart burn with pain and sorrow. He didn't want to leave his friend; he didn't want to let him think that he was gone, never to return. Sherlock wanted John; he wanted the life he had with him so much that it hurt. Above all, he wanted to grasp the lingering promise of a relationship with John and tug their emotions and affections out of the shadows once and for all. This separation made it very clear to Sherlock that he had a large amount of sentiment for the doctor, to a point where he had to declare it to be love.

Lurking in the back of his mind, giving him as much inspiration and happiness as it did sadness was his worry for Felicity Muller. His extensive research on Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies revealed that virtually no information about the outside world made it into the Academy; newspapers were forbidden and their internet connections were meticulously censored and monitored. Sherlock wanted to believe that Felicity would never find out about his death because of her isolation, but at the same time he knew better than to sell Felicity that short on her intelligence. He was certain that she would learn of his passing, whether that would be through spoken word when her brother came to visit or in a way that was infinitely more devious. Sherlock missed her mischievous nature, her happiness, her desire to learn and expand her intelligence. He missed how she always seemed to reflect his own ways back to himself and how, through it all, she was reminder to remain inquisitive, to remain happy and safe. She was his sun, his reminder that emotion and sentiment could exist alongside logic and reason.

With John and Felicity in mind, Sherlock went to Bogotá; he traveled all over the world. He lost weight, gained it back and lost it again. He dyed his hair, cut it short and added extensions to blend into his ever changing landscape. His body, his shell, may have morphed to fit his needs, but he remained true on the inside through fights and cold lonely nights and danger. A year passed as Sherlock kept fighting on. He busted drug rings, smuggling rings, and sex traffickers. He ousted spies, killed operatives, and went about the world ripping down Moriarty's web. Thanks to his self-sacrificing work, he got closer and closer to the center, where Moriarty himself used to sit. His second in command, a colonel by the name of Sebastian Moran had taken over for him, but with Sherlock's ruthless need to return home and to destroy what had destroyed him, the inexperienced sniper had no chance in holding up Moriarty's legacy. The only thing the colonel seemed to be good at was hiding. Sherlock came close to ending him over five times, and each time Moran managed to escape.

After taking out the very last syndicate in Moriarty's web, all Sherlock had left to do was to hunt down Sebastian Moran. To his surprise, fear and great joy, his last enemy had decided to return to London. Sherlock had been dying to go back, to rejoin his family and to reclaim his title as the world's only consulting detective, but part of him was afraid that Moran was only going back to London as a preemptive strike against Sherlock. The detective feared that Moran's reason for returning to England was to kill everyone Sherlock had ever loved. To ensure that their deaths would NEVER happen on Moran's account, Sherlock had no choice: he would have to return to London and he would have to reveal himself to his friends and family, to warn them of the danger they might be in. If he was honest with himself, he could use their help, especially John's…if his old flatmate would ever accept him again. That lingering fear, that everyone he had ever deceived wouldn't take him back, frightened Sherlock to a point where he had to force himself to think of something else to preserve his sanity. This fight, this mission- it had all been for them, his sacrifice was to ensure their safety. The idea of Sherlock being rejected for protecting his loved ones threatened to make him almost physically sick with worry.

Sherlock plotted with that fear in mind, determined to break the news that he was alive slowly and easily, to ease the idea back into the minds of his loved ones. To do this, Sherlock knew just the person that everyone would trust, that everyone had always loved and accepted without question; Felicity Muller. If Felicity arrived at Baker Street and told John and Mrs. Hudson of his survival, he hoped that he could keep as much pain out their lives as possible. Sherlock wasn't just going to Felicity to use her, either. Sherlock needed human contact; he _needed _someone he could trust at his side as he made his return because he didn't think that he could handle it alone. If there was one person who could help him through that emotion, it was his sun.

So Sherlock returned to England under a fake name, under a disguise, and traveled in secret to Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies, determined to break in with the sole purpose of seeing Felicity Muller after almost four years apart.

After parking his car far away from the west side of the property, Sherlock snuck through the forest surrounding the school until he reached the high, unforgiving cement wall that separated him from Ruth's Academy. It didn't take him long to find a few niches that he could use to climb up. The security at the school was still ridiculously tight, but once the guard patrolling the west side of the fence moved on, Sherlock could cut across the pathway on top of the wall and drop down to the other side. Once in, he skirted across the grounds, staying low and in cover before reaching the actual castle-like structure that was the school. Sherlock was more than aware of the fact that he was working at a disadvantage by breaking in during the day, but once he found a spot to hide until night fell, he'd be fine. He stealthily circled the building, looking for the best spot to enter and settled on the janitorial offices as his best chance of remaining hidden.

He picked the lock on the window with ease and folded his long body almost completely in half to get through the opening. Once inside, he shut and locked the window exactly the way it had been before surveying his options on places to hide.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: I'm back! I'm sorry that this update is so short and moves so fast but I wanted to give you an update while moving the story along to more exciting things. I'm also sorry about dumping more angsty whumpage on you, but things will get better in the next chapter, ok? I have a lot of things to be sorry about- ESPECIALLY the fact that in some of your reviews you said that I made you cry! I feel awful yet giddy about that at the same time- so sorry for that too. There's plenty more to come, so stay tuned!**

**All of the love in the universe to my beta, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr! Thanks for putting up with my bullshit formatting!**


	13. Chapter 13

Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies was a prison, an institution. The grounds were closed in by a tall, concrete fence, all doors and windows were locked at night, and guards patrolled the corridors. Every student had a strict, set schedule. If they deviated for even a moment, the punishments limited their few freedoms so severely that most students never dreamed of disobedience. Felicity was no such student, as Sherlock found out. Sherlock, in his quest to find a place to hide, had found a place called the Record's Room; it was more of a converted library with the sole purpose of storing files on all past and current students and staff. He could tell by the dust that the room didn't often receive visitors, so he holed away in there and, out of curiosity, found Felicity's file. It was rather large, almost three times the size that of a normal student's. Considering he had time to burn until he could sneak unseen throughout the institution to find the girl in question, Sherlock flipped the file open.

On the right hand side was a stack of papers, confiscated letters (mostly from Sherlock himself, oddly enough), rap sheets, grade reports, and more. It was like a book of the past four years of Felicity's life. Sherlock started from the back, looking for papers with the oldest dates. Felicity was eight when she was entered into the Academy. At first, she was very introverted, a hard worker, a perfect student. Professors raved about her intelligence and dedication. No problems were listed.

A year later, Felicity escaped. She was only found because the police were involved when the school feared that she had been kidnapped. Felicity had been two towns over, disguised as a homeless beggar. Her brother was notified, a note was placed in her file, and she was shipped off for psychological evaluation. After three appointments, the school's psychiatrist quit and replacements never lasted more than a few months. By age ten, Felicity was being diagnosed with everything from schizophrenia to Asperger's. Each psychiatrist seemed to form a different diagnosis and Sherlock got the feeling that Felicity was more of a brilliant actor then she was a lunatic.

The last two years took up most of the file. Felicity verbally abused professors and classmates. She'd completed a few PHD's from Oxford University and let the marks for the Academy go to hell. Felicity had scared away seven roommates and gotten into fights with three of them before she was given a single room and strict instructions about leaving the other girl's alone. While Felicity was happy to oblige, the other girls were so angry and intolerant of her that they often instigated fights. Throughout her four years at Ruth's, Felicity had only one visitor once a year- her brother, Charley. _That_, Sherlock thought, should be blamed on the Academy's draconian policy that only family members could write to, contact, or visit attendees. If the policy were different, Sherlock would have been round at least once a week if he couldn't be entrusted with her care in the first place.

On the left hand side of the file, there was the classic 'informational' form about the student. It kept track of Felicity's height, weight, medical conditions, age, family members, ethnicity, and more. What Sherlock was really interested in were the photographs clipped to the top of the form. There was one for every year Felicity had been a student. In the first one, Felicity's smile was tight; she was still putting on a show for the world. In the second picture, she looked thinner and a bit more battered. In the third photograph, it was clear that she had hit puberty. Felicity was taller, leaner, with hints of growing curves. Her face was sharper and her brown eyes seemed darker, colder. Despite that, it was obvious that she would be a beauty when she was older. In the fourth photograph, the most current one, Felicity's face was a perfect façade. There was no emotion to be found in her face, her eyes, her expression- nothing. The sight of it made Sherlock's skin crawl as he remembered his days when he was her age- the exact same thing had happened to him. By the time Sherlock had been twelve, he had cut himself out of life completely. He was constantly unhappy, constantly cold, and to a point where he was probably a danger to himself as well as others.

Sherlock had warned Felicity, told her not to let others change her. He'd told her how extraordinary she was and how others wouldn't understand her as she grew older. It saddened him greatly to see that his advice hadn't worked for very long. He could understand why, but his heart pained him to know that someone else had suffered through what he had. Sherlock looked at the pictures a moment longer, watching innocence slip away, before shutting the file and putting it back where it belonged. It had taken him a while to sift through all of the information he'd missed in four years; the school was now dark and quiet. Felicity would be in her room where he could see her again privately.

Sherlock snuck out of the Record's Room and through the silent hallways, never making a sound. He'd found Felicity's room number in the file, so he had no problems locating her. Sherlock made his way through the hallways, wincing at the cold black doors with silver numbers on them and the unforgiving grey linoleum floors; this place was a prison. When he found Felicity's room, he picked the lock and silently snuck inside, closing the door behind him. The room was almost completely dark, save for a bright lamp on the desk. The thin, willowy form of Felicity Muller was leaning over her desk, examining and taking notes on an experiment of a clearly chemical nature (if the large set of titration pipes were anything to go by). She abruptly stiffened, her hands clenching into fists. "I warned you to stay out, Wellembry. I guess I'll have to drive my point home." She suddenly spoke; ice and venom dripping off her words.

Without warning, she turned and threw the beaker nearest to her with all the force she could muster. Sherlock barely had time to duck and roll into her closet as the glass shattered where his neck had been just seconds before. She rose from her desk with an air of uncertainty having seen the shape of Sherlock ducking for cover. The height and stature of the shadow made it obvious that she had not attacked who she thought she had. "Who is there? Show yourself." She demanded, the icy tone becoming sharper as she grasped another beaker, clearly prepared to attack again. Sherlock stood and her eyes raced up his tall shadow, cataloging information. All of the happiness was gone from what used to be her warm brown eyes. Now, they were dark, angry pools on her face. Those same eyes widened in shock as Sherlock stepped into the small halo of light by her desk, the stark, artificial glow lighting up his cheekbones and casting long shadows. Despite the low light quality, his identity was obvious.

"Hello, Felicity." Sherlock said quietly, his low voice barely rumbling through the room. Felicity eyed him a moment longer before her face washed back over to a bitter façade that Sherlock was far too used to using himself. It made his heart pinch to see that look on Felicity's face.

"It seems as if you are still alive after all." She said, her tone clipped as she set the beaker down, crossing her thin arms. "Was the 'fake genius' idea real or was that part of the show too?" She hurled at him, her words more venomous by the second, cluing Sherlock in to how Anderson must have felt on the receiving end of one of Sherlock's verbal disembowelments. Every word was a blow. In the low light of the lamp it was starkly clear how much Felicity had changed. The happiness, the innocence, the self-confidence- it was all gone. The girl that stood before him now was a spitting image of himself at that age and it tore at Sherlock's sense of resolve. He wanted to bring back the old Felicity, the little girl that was his happy little sun. He wanted to find out what had made her this way. He wanted to fix her.

"Felicity, you didn't listen to me." Sherlock said, hearing the regret in his tone. Felicity cocked an eyebrow, clearly interested by his response but still bitter enough to keep silent. "I told you that you were unique, extraordinary. I told you to stay true to yourself. Now look at you." Sherlock said, just managing to keep talking without his voice cracking a bit. He felt so guilty that he'd let this happen, even though he had no control over the situation. With every word he spoke Felicity's face got harder and harder until it was barely concealing rage.

"What the hell are you playing at, Sherlock? I am clearly fine, unique, extraordinary. I am my own person, true to my own principles." She asked in a tone of deadly calm. Despite that, the words were rehearsed- Sherlock could remember having a vitriolic speech just like it.

"No," Sherlock disagreed, unleashing his intense stare. "You're a shell of who you were before. You let bullying, a repressive atmosphere and a lack of social contact crush you, just like I did when I was your age." Sherlock took a step closer to accentuate his point. Felicity didn't move, just stared at him, the façade wavering. "Be yourself, Felicity. That's all I ask." He said quietly. Her eyes flickered, her posture wavered as Felicity stared at him with wide eyes, calculating, fighting instinct. Seconds later, Felicity was hugging him tightly, sobbing into his coat. The release from her frigidity, from her second persona, was reassuring and troubling at the same time. Sherlock knew that if she was breaking down her walls of self-protection for him then she would be alright; she'd find herself again. What worried him was what could be lasting damage from her time at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies. Sherlock embraced her gently, steering them over to the bed that was made so precisely that John would be impressed. He held her as she cried with enough force to shake her slim frame. Sherlock stroked her hair, taking comfort in comforting another at a time when he'd lost his friends and family to take down an enemy. Felicity was his first social contact in months.

"I thought you were dead, Sherlock- and it killed me to have to hide that sorrow. Why and how are you alive?" She whispered finally, pulling away, wiping her eyes, and inspecting Sherlock with a thorough, searching gaze as if she could deduce the answer from his eyes alone.

"There used to be a criminal mastermind based in London by the name of Jim Moriarty." Sherlock started as Felicity straightened to her regal posture, wiping any other evidence of crying off of her face as if it would help her pay more attention than her already rapt response to his speech. "When my abilities threatened to slow down and even stop his crime syndicate, he retaliated. For a year we exchanged barbs back and forth- he'd present me with a case and I'd solve it. Three years ago he started to attack me personally. Moriarty drummed up the media, focused all of their attentions on my brilliance. When the time was right, he tore down my image to make it appear to the world that I was a fake and that he was an actor I'd hired to make my cases seem more legitimate."

"Ingenious," Felicity said, her face and tone suggesting that the last thing she felt for Moriarty was admiration. Every inch of her was tense. Sherlock grimaced.

"When he reached what he called 'the final problem', I was positive that I could beat him. I had a backup plan, just in case, and it quickly became necessary when Moriarty took himself out of the equation. I needed him and he killed himself so that I couldn't get out of his plan." Sherlock revealed, and Felicity looked at him wide eyes before she got it.

"There was a threat and you needed him to call it off. Who was in danger?" She pieced together, staring at Sherlock half in horror, half in anticipation.

"He had three snipers; one shot for John, one for Mrs. Hudson, and one for Lestrade." Sherlock said, his tone clipped as he remembered the paralyzing fear that had gripped him when that became clear to him up on that rooftop. The three people that had mattered most to him had their lives hanging in the balance on his account. Felicity's eyes widened.

"So you faked your own death to protect them." She very nearly whispered, looking at Sherlock with a new kind of sorrow. "How did you live? You jumped off of a building that was six stories tall." She pressed on, and for that, Sherlock was grateful. He was more than aware of his sacrifice; it had been eating at him for the past three years.

"St. Bart's was undergoing renovations before and during Moriarty's games. I changed a few of the plans to suit my own needs; there was a slight gap between the façade of the building and the back wall. When that space was open, it led straight to a hidden room on the first story. A shock mat absorbed the fall and a truck was strategically placed so that when I rolled out of the first story window, no one saw it. Fake blood and acting filled in the gaps." Sherlock explained, remembering the sharp _smack _of his back hitting the padded mat.

"Surely medics checked for a pulse, for breathing," Felicity pushed.

"I had help from the hospital's pathologist. I paid her and medics to be standing by, to get me out of there as quickly as possible. The only problem was John." Sherlock said, forced to pause for a moment. Hearing John completely broken, murmuring _"Oh God, no," _under his breath would stay with Sherlock until the end of his days. "I knew that John would not completely believe it, even if it happened directly in front of him. I knew that John would want evidence, proof. He'd want to feel for a pulse." Sherlock's lips twisted up into a smile, leaving Felicity looking taken aback at the look on his face when he was discussing something so horribly sad. "I used a very interesting trick I had learned a few years ago that had fooled John once before," Sherlock explained, and Felicity looked at Sherlock in surprise when she understood what he was hinting at. The second time they'd met she'd faked her own death to get rid of bullies by cutting off her pulse and breathing with a set of tight bands around her torso…

"You used the band-method?" She said, sounding slightly flattered, a small smile stretching across her grim and far too grown-up face. Sherlock loved seeing it there. "And it worked for you?" Felicity tacked on, the smile vanishing.

"Perfectly. From the time I was falling to the sidewalk up until I woke up in the morgue is blank to me. Molly Hooper, the pathologist, told me that I wasn't breathing and that I had no heartbeat and that John felt for a pulse and didn't find one." Sherlock reported. They sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

"What have you been doing for the past three years, then, if Moriarty killed himself?" Felicity asked, getting up and grabbing a box of baking soda. She sprinkled it liberally over the doorframe and the ground below it where she had thrown the beaker at Sherlock. He was slightly amused to note that she had thrown concentrated nitric acid at him and it was currently burning through the wood, wallpaper and carpet. If she hadn't neutralized it then the acid would have most likely eaten through to the concrete floor and beyond.

"I've been destroying his web of crime. It was a well-organized, global network. It took time to destroy every last strand and my work is almost complete. There is only one operative left to destroy, a sniper by the name of Sebastian Moran, and I need John's help to do it." Sherlock said, feeling only slight pride as he admitted to the vast amount of work he'd done. It almost didn't seem worth it when he considered the consequences of doing so. He hadn't contacted anyone for the past three years except Felicity just now, and he missed his old life. He was almost home, however, and that's what he was counting on to get him through. Felicity set the box back on her desk and hugged Sherlock again, burying her face into his wool coat. "What about you, Felicity? I read your file downstairs. You haven't been idle." Sherlock noted, his cheek and nose pressed into Felicity's still vibrant red hair. Felicity snorted into his chest. "Three PHDS in Chemistry, Biology and Engineering?" Sherlock prompted, and Felicity snorted again. It was baffling to see someone so young and so gifted brushing off their talents artlessly, but Sherlock understood. He'd done the same thing with his degrees in Biochemistry, Physics and Sociology when he was her age. "What about the fights?" He asked in a quieter tone, his grip tightening protectively when Felicity stiffened.

"They didn't understand and when they couldn't understand me they feared me, hated me. They wouldn't leave me alone." Felicity's voice was muffled by Sherlock's thick coat. "Then they started harassing me. When they punched me I punched back. They instigated fights and once and awhile I was more than willing to oblige them." She continued, and Sherlock felt his back stiffening in anger. He could imagine a group of girls similar to the packs of boys from his days at university. He could see how they would surround her, picking a fight. He knew just how it felt to be pushed to your limit, to punch the instigator right in the face only to have the group beat you down when you couldn't fight all of them back. He made a mental note to find these girls and scare them away, intimidate them, make them pay for what they'd done to Felicity. He was unwilling to admit just how protective he was of Felicity; he supposed that he was almost at a 'fatherly' level. For someone who wasn't a blood relative, that was careful, unsure waters to be in, but Sherlock didn't care.

"Felicity," Sherlock sighed in a sympathetic way, pressing his face into her hair. She'd been just as lonely, just as isolated as he had these past few years. "How's Charley?" He asked, and Felicity pulled away but didn't get off Sherlock's lap. Neither of them cared.

"He was deployed two years ago, to Kuwait, but I'm sure you've known that for a long time." She said, voice trembling slightly. Despite that, she held her head high, her face twisted in sadness. "He emails me when he can and visits as often as he can, but he only really comes for Christmas." She added, her tone becoming more level as she bottled up her emotion, forced it down and away.

"Don't do that, Felicity." Sherlock rebuked softly. "Don't store that emotion inside yourself." He added when she only looked at him, confused. "You know what it does," he said, letting his gaze do the work. Felicity grimaced, looking down.

"Habits are hard to break." She said simply, unwilling to go further into detail. Appearing emotionless had been key to staving off interactions with her classmates- it had been a matter of survival. Forcing herself not to feel was second nature to Felicity. Before Sherlock could say anything else, her head snapped towards the doorway, apparently listening. Seconds later Sherlock heard footsteps 'sneaking' towards Felicity's room. Felicity silently got off of him and pointed to the closet. Sherlock ducked inside it just as quietly, standing behind the door but looking through the crack. He had a perfect view of the doorway. Felicity's posture changed; she grew into a cold, unforgiving figure before she whipped the door open before it could be forced open from the other side. "Can I help you, Wellembry?" She asked coolly, her icy voice making a ferocious comeback.

"I heard voices, freak." An aggressive voice that reminded Sherlock of Anderson filtered through the doorway. The name the girl called Felicity made his blood boil with rage. He was particularly sensitive to the slur 'freak' for obvious reasons and he was not about to let someone call Felicity that and get away with it.

"Congratulations, you aren't as stupid as I thought. Yes, you heard something- _a _voice. Mine. Anything else I can help you with?" Felicity mocked, her words a verbal punch.

"Your voice isn't that low, freak. Unless you're a bloke as well as a butch-ugly bitch?" Wellembry shot back. Sherlock's teeth clenched in an effort not to sweep out of the closest and give this girl a piece of his mind.

"It's called acting and voice-manipulation, Wellembry." Felicity said, suddenly mimicking Sherlock's deep baritone with perfect accuracy. "Is there anything else I can help you with- do you need to know how to tie your shoes? Why the sky is blue? How to count to five?" Felicity was merciless- she didn't let this other girl affect her outwardly in anyway. As she'd said- it was all acting, and Felicity was excellent at it.

"Yeah, you can hold still while I punch your ugly face, freak." Wellembry spluttered. There was a moment of shuffling as Wellembry launched forward and Felicity swiftly dodged, grabbed her wrist, and slammed her into the doorframe, keeping threatening pressure on her arm and shoulder socket.

"If you come back here again, Wellembry, I'll dislocate your shoulder. I can't promise that I'll behave the time after that, so _leave me alone." _Felicity snarled in a way that even gave Sherlock a chill before pushing Wellembry back out into the hallway. Felicity slammed her door and locked it, leaning against the dark wood in silence, head bowed as Wellembry stormed away. In Felicity's dark room, Sherlock could just see the profile of her pale, thin face behind her dark red-hair. Felicity looked so unhappy that it made Sherlock even angrier. He ducked out of the closet, nudging her aside and going for the door. "Sherlock, no, _what are you doing?" _Felicity panted, throwing all her weight back against the door to close it when Sherlock wedged it open a crack.

"I'm about to teach that girl a lesson in manners." Sherlock hissed, getting the door half open before Felicity forced it shut again. She pried Sherlock's fingers off the deadbolt and the doorknob and held onto his hands. Both of them were aware that Sherlock was obviously much stronger and taller than Felicity. If he really wanted to, he could leave on the spot and Felicity wouldn't be able to stop him. "Please, Sherlock. It's not worth it." Felicity said in a quieter tone, her dark brown eyes searching his face. There was a moment of silence. Sherlock, in looking for a distraction, decided to bring up one of his reasons for coming to see Felicity.

"Felicity, I need your help." Sherlock said finally, giving her tiny hands a squeeze in reassurance. Felicity laughed, the tone slightly bitter. She relaxed a bit, seeing that he'd given up his endeavor to follow the girl who had been bothering her.

"Sherlock, I'd love to help you- but I'm stuck here. I can't leave." Felicity said, moving to drop his hands. Sherlock held on, turning up the intensity of his gaze.

"You got out of here once before, Felicity. With help you can most definitely do it again." He murmured. Felicity looked at him for a moment, trying to understand.

"Why?" She said finally, and Sherlock's smile twisted slightly. He knew that she wouldn't have turned down a chance to get out of her prison, but he needed her for a very sad reason.

"I'm going home, to Baker Street, to apologize and explain to John, Mrs. Hudson, everyone. I intend to go to John first. I need to break this to him slowly." Sherlock said, regret filling his tone as he wondered about John. How was he doing? _What _was he doing? What had happened in the three years he was gone? Would he willing to let Sherlock back into his life? And, most importantly, would John be willing to look for the hint of romance they'd felt before?

"You want me to meet him first, to tell it to him and then bring you in as proof." Felicity said, putting the pieces together. She gave Sherlock a soft smile and a nod. "Of course I will. I've missed John just as much as I've missed you."

"Excellent. How soon can you leave?" Sherlock asked, releasing her hands. Felicity instantly leapt into action. She put her experiment on hold, grabbed a backpack and a few things that she was going to need, and then quickly proceeded to braid her long, rebellious locks, just like she did the last time Sherlock had seen her. With her hair tied back, she picked up her backpack, slinging it on.

"Let's go," She said with a grin that was faintly reminiscent of the smiles Sherlock used to see on her face. Without another word Sherlock paced over to the window and opened it, sneaking through like a cat with Felicity close behind.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Hello, hello! I'm not enjoying college so much as to forget all of you lovely, wonderful people or this story! I have a lot more planned so have no fear! The way Sherlock described surviving the Fall is my own Reichenbach Theory...I hope it made sense. If it didn't, PM me and I'll answer questions. :) What do you think of the changed Felicity? Can you see how Sherlock would be the same way? Maybe? Possibly? I was trying to do a 'circles within circles' thing but it probably didn't happen that way. Oh well. OH! But did you like the bit with the bands that Felicity used to fake her own death when she and Sherlock met? Did you get that? Huh? Maybe? (If you can't tell, I'm very excited and proud about that!) SO, ANYWAY, Felicity is off to see Sherlock back to London and to help him let everyone know that he isn't dead after all. Hooray! Don't forget- he and John had a little somethin' somethin' before Sherlock jumped and everything...MUAHAHHAAHAHAHA**

**Thanks to louisuperwholocked on Tumblr for dealing with the author while she is hyper and for being a super beta. :D**


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock and Felicity snuck out of Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies, got into Sherlock's car, and drove to London. The ride was mostly silent; Felicity seemed more relaxed than before, but she was still uptight and withdrawn. Sherlock hoped that time away from the prison she'd been in before would help her come back to her carefree nature. One long stretch of driving later, the two of them booked a hotel for the night and settled in. They shared the queen bed, even though neither of them really _slept. _Sherlock hadn't gotten a good, full night's sleep since he faked his death three years ago, not that he'd ever been able to fully curb his insomnia before the event. Felicity, on the other hand, used to be able to fall asleep without much difficulty. Now she was such an insomniac she sometimes didn't sleep for weeks; dreams of Charley dying or bullies from her school breaking her apart deterred her from sleeping. Felicity and Sherlock took comfort in having someone nearby they could trust for the first time in years.

The next morning, Sherlock and Felicity ate a quiet breakfast before they turned in the rental car and hopped on the tube. Sherlock was well aware that it wouldn't take Mycroft long to notice him on CCTV so they didn't have much time. Logical thoughts aside, Sherlock was anxious to see his friends again. He wanted to run to them, throw open the door and see their faces for the first time in three years. He wanted to know what their lives had been like, what had happened since his 'death', and, most of all, he wanted his old life back. He tried to find a shred of patience as he and Felicity got off the tube and walked to 221B. As they walked from the tube station, Sherlock surreptitiously inspected Felicity. In the light of day, his deductions from the night before were screamed back at him. Felicity had grown, that was for sure, but she'd also lost more weight than was necessary in the process. She held herself like a queen, but the stiff regality of her movements seemed fatigued. Her vibrant hair sharply contrasted her introverted, antisocial personality change. An odd feeling pulled at Sherlock's heart as they stopped at _Speedy's_. Sherlock stared at the door to 221B, fighting down waves of emotion that crashed over him. He wasn't with the people he cared about most, not yet, but he was _home. _He was in London, the city that had inspired him to become a detective. Three years away suddenly felt like three centuries, three millennia.

Sherlock was jerked out of his thoughts by a tiny, cool hand taking his own. When he looked down, he noticed Felicity at his elbow giving him a sad yet reassuring smile. She squeezed his hand and then released it, knowing that Sherlock would stay until she called him. Sherlock ducked into the sandwich shop, his heart racing as he watched Felicity go right up to the front door and knock a few times. After a moment, the door opened and there was a loud gasp from Mrs. Hudson as she got a good look at the girl on her doorstep. Sherlock devoured Mrs. Hudson's image as his kind landlady and friend gave Felicity a firm hug. "Felicity? Felicity Muller? Goodness gracious, child, look at you." Mrs. Hudson fussed, holding Felicity at arm's length and gazing at her from head to toe. "You're all grown up!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, and Sherlock saw a brief spark of worry in Mrs. Hudson's eyes. She saw the bad changes, the changes that had killed the old Felicity as well.

"It's been a long time, Mrs. Hudson, but I thought I'd come by to see you. May I come in?" Felicity's voice made Mrs. Hudson blink again at the obvious change and the slightly hollow smile Felicity gave her. However, Mrs. Hudson was a strong, patient woman. She knew that she would get to the bottom of things soon enough, so she saved her questions for later. Instead, she gave Felicity a huge smile and ushered her inside, leaving Sherlock to wait anxiously for Felicity's call.

"You look so peaky, dear. Are you feeling ill?" Mrs. Hudson asked, steering Felicity into her flat and closing the door. She instantly started a pot of tea, regardless of if Felicity would want any or not. It was a habit of Mrs. Hudson's; the action was second nature to her. Felicity sat in one of Mrs. Hudson's dining room chairs, posture so perfect it looked painful as she watched the older woman make the tea. The nostalgia of the moment was warming Felicity's heart a bit, but her heart was still buried and almost lost inside her where she'd stored it when Charley was deployed.

"No, I'm in good health, thank you. How about yourself; is your hip still bothering you?" Felicity deflected the question with ease, her internal wince masked behind her neutral, eerily calm face. Mrs. Hudson tutted as she sat down.

"Of course, dear. It always does. How are you, Felicity? The last time I heard about you, I was hearing the most awful news that your brother was being shipped off somewhere horrible." Mrs. Hudson launched her grandmotherly, information seeking attack. She honestly wanted to know, that was true, but she wanted to know quickly. She'd missed Felicity a lot and missed her sunny disposition. She saw the flash of pain in Felicity's eyes before it vanished.

"I've been focusing on my studies quite a bit." She said carefully, as if she was choosing her words on purpose. "I was sent to a boarding school when Charley was deployed four years ago to Kuwait. He's visited every Christmas, but he's so busy over there that those visits are the only time he's been able to take off." Felicity explained almost tonelessly, and Mrs. Hudson tutted sympathetically, getting the kettle when it started to whistle. She prepared a cup of tea for Felicity without any prompting on how the redhead took it; Mrs. Hudson always remembered how people took their tea. Felicity smiled softly at the mug as it was placed in front of her as she slowly wrapped her thin hands around the porcelain. "And you, Mrs. Hudson? How have you been getting on?" Felicity asked, and Mrs. Hudson's face dropped slightly.

"I've been fine, dear, trudging on as always. It's been a bit difficult since Sherlock's passing, but John and I go to visit him every month." Mrs. Hudson said in a quieter tone, taking a slow sip of tea to steady her nerves. Felicity's ghostly smile dropped as well at the mention of Sherlock. "That must have been hard for you to hear about dear, while you were stuck in school." Mrs. Hudson added in a firmer tone as she got her wits about her. Felicity's sad smile returned and her eyes, which were usually so carefully guarded, started to drown in their own misery.

"It was, Mrs. Hudson. It was." She said very softly, and then leaned closer to her, eyes fixed on Mrs. Hudson's face in a way so reminiscent of Sherlock that Mrs. Hudson felt a jolt of surprise. She'd never expected to be on the receiving end of such a stare ever again. "That's slightly why I'm here, Mrs. Hudson." Felicity hedged, working to speak around the lump in her throat that had appeared as she remembered the day when the news of Sherlock's suicide reached her. Seeing Mrs. Hudson again was helping Felicity come to terms with the fact that she wasn't so repressed anymore, but the memories of seeing that tabloid and reading about Sherlock came back, it made Felicity want to cry. When the landlady looked at her questioningly, Felicity continued, taking a deep breath. "Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock isn't dead. I know he isn't." She said, and it took Mrs. Hudson a moment to process. Her first instinct was to deny Felicity's words; Sherlock was obviously dead, he jumped off of a building for god's sake. After the shock and anger of Felicity's idea ran their course, Mrs. Hudson started to wonder. Felicity was one of the few people Mrs. Hudson had met that could lay a finger to Sherlock's intellect. If Felicity was sure of Sherlock's livelihood, than perhaps she was right.

"Felicity, dear, I-I," Mrs. Hudson stammered, trying to find words. Felicity's hands instantly shot across the table to collect the more wrinkled hands that rested there, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"I know that he's alive, Mrs. Hudson, because he's the reason I'm here." She said earnestly, her eyes searching Mrs. Hudson's face for evidence of Mrs. Hudson becoming overwhelmed. "Sherlock snuck me out of my boarding school so that I could ease the stress of his return." Felicity summed up, and Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened so much, Felicity wondered if they were going to fall right out of her head.

"You've seen him? Alive?" She whispered finally, and Felicity nodded solemnly, still watching her anxiously for signs of stress. "For the love of—I'll kill him," Mrs. Hudson growled weakly, wiping tears away from her eyes as sharp hope and sadness bloomed through her chest at the same time. _Sherlock was alive. _How and why was that even possible? Where had Sherlock been all of these years, and why was he returning now? "Where is he?" Mrs. Hudson asked, and Felicity hesitated.

"He's here in London, and he wants to see you yet today. I'll call him, don't worry," she added hastily, seeing Mrs. Hudson's expression change for the worse, "but I have to tell John first, and that's going to be…difficult." Felicity struggled for the right words and Mrs. Hudson's previously angry expression instantly died.

"John hasn't been the same since Sherlock jumped, dear. I used to say that a part of him died with Sherlock, but Sherlock isn't exactly dead, now is he?" Mrs. Hudson asked weakly, swiping at her eyes again. Felicity looked worried as she watched Mrs. Hudson dab at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Tell me about him, please." Felicity asked softly, and Mrs. Hudson sighed, taking a sip of her tea.

"John is haunted by the loss of his friend." She summed up finally, gesturing hopelessly with her free hand as she clutched her tea mug. "He still works at the surgery and goes out to the shops and all…but he's different. His limp is back, his hand tremors are back…it's like he's reverted to the man he was before he met Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson sighed, looking at Felicity with sad eyes. "Why don't I walk you up there now, hmm? I don't want to keep John from this any longer than necessary." Mrs. Hudson said firmly, standing up. After a moment, Felicity rose also, following her out of the flat and up the stairs. With every step her heart beat faster in her chest. This place held so many memories for her, happy memories that she'd repressed in an effort to become a robot. Seeing 221B in the flesh once more made her heart clench uncomfortably. She'd learned of Sherlock's existence just yesterday, and now she was back in London, reuniting with some of the people that mattered the most to her. Swallowing her emotions, she waited patiently as Mrs. Hudson knocked. "Yoohoo! John?" Mrs. Hudson called.

"I'm a bit busy, Mrs. Hudson," John called back at the moment, sounding tired. "Let yourself in, please," he added, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door, stepping in first. Felicity hovered behind her, unsure of how she wanted to reveal herself. Mrs. Hudson had taken her reappearance and the news of Sherlock's survival surprisingly well (but then again, Mrs. Hudson was as tough as nails). Felicity had no idea how John was going to react and because her mission was to break the news to him _gently, _Felicity was nervous.

"John, you'll never guess who is here," Mrs. Hudson said, somehow managing to keep her composure and not seem oddly emotional _at all. _She had just learned that Sherlock still lived and yet here she was, completely normal. Felicity made a distracted, mental note of Mrs. Hudson's amazing acting capabilities as John spoke.

"Who is it? It's not Mycroft, is it?" John asked, his voice holding no interest or emotion at all. It was a flat, tired monotone that made Felicity's skin crawl. Usually, any mention of Mycroft was enough to trigger a reaction in John, but now he was an empty shell. Felicity suddenly had the strong urge to hug John, hug him as hard as she could to make him feel better.

"No, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, blinking away a brief look of pain on her face as the Holmes family was mentioned. "An old friend." At those words, John looked up, interest finally piqued. He stared at Felicity in the doorway, all thinned out and a bit beaten down, and his mouth formed into a perfect 'o' as he stared at her in shock.

"Felicity?" He managed to gasp finally, surprise, sadness and joy managing to all fit into one word. His tone was too much for Felicity to handle, and in seconds she'd blitzed across the room and hugged John as tight as she could, burying her face into one of his classic wool jumpers with a barely concealed sob. Felicity had missed John just as much as she'd missed Sherlock. John was her rock, her normalcy, her lazy Saturday in with crap telly and a jar of jam. She'd loved him with all her heart, only to be cut off so brutally that she hadn't even seen his face in over three years. For a girl who never cried, Felicity seemed to be doing a lot of it lately as she hung onto John and shed more tears than she thought was possible. John embraced her just as tightly, his short stature making it easy for him to bury his face in her hair. Felicity was sure she felt a few tears land in her fiery red locks, but she didn't care. She was _home. _She was with John. Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street, London- all of it; it didn't replace her life with her brother in Sussex, not completely, but it was such a release from her confinement at Ruth's that she didn't know what to do with herself. "Felicity, what are you doing here?" John managed to croak finally, holding Felicity at arm's length to get a better look at her. Seeing that their reunion would take a long time, Mrs. Hudson smiled to herself and snuck back down the stairs to her own flat.

"I came to see you," Felicity said quietly, locking her emotions away again, hopefully for real this time. She had work to do, and crying wouldn't help resolve the issue any faster. John looked confused as he insisted that Felicity sit down in the other armchair, Sherlock's old armchair, as John settled into his own. John looked thinner, his face more tired. His hair was graying a bit further with stress, and his eyes had a dead look to them to match his previous tone. All in all, he and Felicity looked a bit gaunt. "How have you been, John? I haven't seen you in…a while." Felicity asked carefully, seeing how John stiffened at the question.

"I've been better, Felicity, but I'm doing fine. What about you; you look a little ill." John commented, unknowingly echoing Mrs. Hudson's previous thoughts. Felicity grimaced. "It was that school, wasn't it? The one like Pentonville Prison." John put together, and Felicity's grimace deepened. "You know, Sherlock and I were really upset when we weren't allowed to contact or see you. We tried writing to you by posing as another relative, but something tells me the letters didn't make it." John said, his voice getting that flat note to it again as he mentioned his dead friend. Felicity shook her head silently in confirmation in an effort not to speak when another lump was rising in her throat. "When was your graduation? Is Charley home? I'd like to see him again, catch up on old times." John asked, and Felicity flinched slightly at his comment. Before he could comment on it, she answered him.

"Charley isn't back from Kuwait yet, and I haven't graduated from Ruth's Academy." Felicity said softly, and John stared at her, bemused.

"Then how are you here? You didn't run away, did you?" He asked, his voice rising in anxiousness as he started to put the pieces together. "You ran _away? _By yourself? Felicity!" John exclaimed in shock, too surprised to rebuke her properly. Her action sparked a pit of worry inside him; if Felicity had run away from school, how bad of a facility was it? What drove her to such an extreme measure?

"I had help, John, and that's why I'm here." Felicity continued in that strangely calm and flat voice that made John instantly suspicious and even more worried. "John, Sherlock helped me get out of Ruth's." Felicity broke the news, and John stared at her for a minute before his face clouded over in anger and surprise at the same time. "I know that it sounds ridiculous, John, and I know that it's hurtful, but _I've seen Sherlock. _He's alive." Felicity continued, her voice starting to strain as she tried to keep calm.

"How can you say that, Felicity. I'm sure you read the papers, watched the news. Sherlock is dead- I saw him jump; _he's dead!" _John very nearly yelled, then hid his face behind a hand, rubbing his forehead as they sat in silence.

"John, why would I make this up, why would I lie about this? Sherlock was my friend too. He was my mentor, my-" Felicity struggled to take a deep breath, and John looked up as she interrupted herself. "Sherlock was my proof that things do get better. He survived the bullying and growing up so I thought I could too." Felicity whispered, closing her eyes and giving her head a rough shake to pull herself together. John was staring at her when Felicity opened her eyes. He looked like he was facing an internal struggle- should he continue to repress his sorrow for Sherlock's loss, or should he let it all out and accept that it wasn't real, that he didn't have to grieve anymore? "Trust me, John." Felicity meant to say it firmly, but it came out like she was begging. That was what finally pushed John to believe her. He got up and crouched next to her, eyes wide but sad as he tried to process.

"Sherlock is alive." John said slowly, as if he had to test out the words. Felicity nodded, her face white with restraint. "Where?" John asked, and Felicity smiled a ghostly smile.

"I'll call him. Mrs. Hudson already knows and I'm sure Mycroft will show up soon." Felicity told him, voice still strained as she pulled out a small pay-as-you-go mobile phone and hit the first speed dial, trying to ignore the excited, angry, and terrified look on John's face. Sherlock picked up immediately but waited for Felicity to speak first. "Come up when you're ready." Felicity managed to say it clearly, without the strain in her voice. Sherlock hung up, and then there were footsteps racing towards them, skipping stairs two to three at a time. Before Felicity could comprehend it, Sherlock was there, standing in the doorway. His hair was ruffled- he'd been running his hands through it in frustration and impatience. Felicity could see how his hands shook, even though he was holding quite firmly onto the door and the doorframe. The hurt on his face was so prevalent that Felicity couldn't even look at him. She didn't look at John either as the doctor slowly stood, placing a hand on the back of her armchair, Sherlock's armchair, for support. The two men stared at each other as if they'd never seen a human being before; cataloging changes they saw in their faces.

"Where on Earth have you been, Sherlock?" John asked finally, his voice incredibly calm. Sherlock flinched as if he'd been punched, his head drooping at the question.

"I had a plan going up onto that rooftop, John. I was prepared to destroy him- the incident on St. Bart's rooftop was to be our last altercation with each other. When my plan backfired, I had to rely on my secondary plan." Sherlock started, his voice hollow.

"What, by throwing yourself off a building?!" John spluttered, his grip tightening on the upholstery under his hand.

"Moriarty had three snipers at his disposal. One shot for Mrs. Hudson, one shot for Lestrade, and one shot for you. If the snipers received word that I had jumped, you would not be killed." Sherlock continued, sounding so regretful he almost sounded sick. Dead silence spread throughout the room as John stared at Sherlock, the shock at his sacrifice and his anger for Moriarty mixing in his expression until it created a harsh grimace. "Once my death was faked, I was free to track down and destroy every syndicate of Moriarty's crime network. I finished one week ago and was free to return home without fear of anyone suffering on my behalf." Sherlock spoke haltingly, and at his last sentence anger flared in John Watson.

"No suffering, Sherlock? Despite all your best efforts, we've suffered quite a bit, I thank you." John very nearly yelled. "Lestrade got demoted for working with you, Molly was almost fired for letting you use the lab and it's supplies, Mrs. Hudson nearly had a heart attack when she heard the news, _Mycroft's been on my arse, and-" _John started to rage, his voice rising higher and higher until he was interrupted.

"Stop it, John." Felicity's voice was so steely and icy that her words stopped John in his tracks, the words dying in his throat. Her usually warm brown eyes were so dark and piercing that John's previous thoughts evaporated. The look on Sherlock's face, John realized, was so sorrowful that it made _John _sad. His words must have been such a betrayal, such a wound to Sherlock, despite the fact that they were true. John had a right to be angry, to be sad, but he didn't have a right to rage at Sherlock when it wasn't his fault. "You've both suffered," Felicity added in a much softer tone, her brief moment of strength quickly fading away. There was a hefty moment of silence as John and Sherlock stared at each other and Felicity looked determinedly at the carpet.

"Well, come in, get comfy, and I'll put the kettle on." John said finally, his voice relieved yet a bit shaky as he made to walk into the kitchen. Felicity saw his knees tremble to support his weight and she shot up, took him by the shoulders, and gently set him down in the armchair in less than thirty seconds.

"Sit. I'll take care of it." Felicity murmured, and vanished into the kitchen. She could hear Sherlock and John talking quietly, but she started to tune them out as emotion threatened to crush her. The kitchen of 221B didn't look at all like it had the last time she was here. All of the scientific equipment and experiments were blatantly removed. The table was empty, the clear surface mocking her as she filled the kettle with water and put in on the stove with shaking hands. Ignoring Sherlock's advice, Felicity wrestled with her emotions and bottled them up. She loathed sentiment because whenever it showed its face, Felicity lost control of herself. That terrifying feeling was something that Felicity hadn't been able to handle at school. Felicity could only rely on herself, and that meant being in control every moment of every day.

It didn't take Felicity long to find the tea and more bitter memories popped up as she easily reached all the cabinets to get the things she needed. The last time she'd been here, Sherlock had to pick her up to put her on the bar stools around the table. Since then, Felicity had grown by almost four feet in a painful growth spurt that gave the others girls at the Academy just another reason to hate her. Felicity was tall, bony and thin while everyone else was average. Some days, Felicity longed to be normal and then loathed herself for wanting something so mean and mundane. When the water was ready, Felicity steeped the tea, prepared the cups according to the men's preferences, and then carried them back into the living room. Sherlock and John were leaning forward in their chairs, staring at each other with such intensity they could probably burn a hole in each other's foreheads. At Felicity's entrance they seemed to snap out of it, leaning back slowly, tearing their glances away from each other and to Felicity.

She wordlessly passed each cup to each man and then sat on their couch, curling into a ball so that she could watch her two friends over her knees. All she wanted to do was lay there with her eyes closed so that she could slowly adjust to her new situation, but Felicity knew that what she wanted wasn't going to happen when there were careful footsteps heading up to 221B. Sherlock checked his watch as Mycroft appeared in the doorway, expression smooth and calm. "You're getting slow, Mycroft." Sherlock said, but the taunting tone to his voice was gone, replaced with a light, half-heated attempt at teasing to lighten the mood. Mycroft gave him a strained smile as he stepped in, closing the door behind him.

"You're getting reckless." He replied, leaning against his umbrella and studying his brother. Sherlock attempted a tight smile in return. Any normal brothers would run and hug each other at such an emotional reunion, but Sherlock and Mycroft did not have that normal relationship.

"Did you tell Mummy?" Sherlock asked and Mycroft nodded. Sherlock visibly relaxed, leaning back more into his chair and passing a brief hand over his face. "Thank you," Sherlock said gratefully, running a quick hand through his hair. His return was reminding him every second of someone he had been hurt by his disappearing act.

"I can't stay long, Sherlock. There is everything from alerts for missing children to bomb threats happening today." Mycroft sighed, looking truly regretful. He wasn't above spending time with his brother to learn what had happened- on the contrary. Sherlock waved a hand dismissively, having processed Mycroft's want to stay since he walked in the door.

"I understand, Mycroft. Duty calls." Sherlock said, and something changed in Mycroft's expression as he figured out what Sherlock had been doing the past few years. Sherlock had answered a call to destroy Moriarty just like Mycroft received calls daily to protect their country. At that remark, Mycroft gave him a nod, turning to sweep out and balking when he noticed Felicity for the first time.

"Ms. Muller! This is a surprise." Mycroft said, crossing the room to shake her hand, his eyebrows coming down slightly as he instantly started deducing Felicity with a practiced eye. The two of them shook hands, Felicity blatantly ignoring how Mycroft was analyzing her.

"Mycroft," Felicity greeted him, the ghostly smile returning to her face. "It's good to see you again."

"Yes, quite. Will you be in London for long? I would be delighted if we had tea again while you are here." Mycroft offered, and her smile started to become more genuine. Having tea with Mycroft the last time had been such a pleasant and eye-opening experience that Felicity had caught herself longing for another visit while she'd been at school. Every second spent with Mycroft taught Felicity something, and to a genius, that feeling was addicting.

"I'm not sure on the duration of my stay, but I'd love to pencil you in somewhere." Felicity said softly, and Mycroft gave her a nod as well, straightening his suit coat.

"I'll be in touch," He announced to the room before sweeping out. As his footsteps died, Felicity started to laugh weakly as a sudden realization dawned on her. The last time she'd seen Mycroft in 221B, he'd done almost the exact same thing; on both occasions he had completely ignored John.

"Felicity, are you ok?" The doctor in question asked, looking at her with worry. The lighthearted giggles he was used to hearing had morphed into hoarse, choking laughter. It didn't suit Felicity in the slightest, and only made John more aware that something had happened.

"Fine. I'm laughing because every time I catch Mycroft's attention he seems to completely ignore you, John." Felicity laughed, and John chuckled despite his worries. He knew that Felicity would speak when she was ready. For the moment, he was so overwhelmed with seeing her again and the reappearance of his friend, Sherlock Holmes that he couldn't find the words to press her on it.

"We should go and see Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said, rising and going over to Felicity, offering her a hand up. Felicity nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull her up. Seconds later, cars screamed to a halt outside of the flat, red and blue lights flashing. Officers were leaping from their cars, pouring into Baker Street. Boots pounded up the stairs and officers fanned out, guns raised for Sherlock's head.

"Step away from her _now!" _The officer in charge yelled, and Sherlock slowly released Felicity's hand and took a step away from her, hands rising in defeat. His intelligent eyes swept over the officers, starting to deduce what was happening and why.

"You. Stand up and put your hands where I can see them." Another copper ordered, gesturing for John to get out of his chair. John stood up calmly, coping Sherlock's stance as well as his slightly angry, slightly bemused expression. Felicity slowly raised her arms as well and a female officer tutted at her reaction, coming over and putting an arm around her, urging her out of the flat.

"It's ok honey. It's all over now." The woman told her soothingly, rubbing her bony shoulder. Felicity balked under her touch, twisting out of her grasp. If the officers didn't want her to be submissive, they were here for her. _Why? _

"What is going on here?" She asked in the same venomous voice Sherlock had heard her wield at one of her bullies. The female cop grimaced put wrapped an arm around her once more.

"You don't have to act anymore. You're safe now." The female cop said, and Felicity stared at her with such a look that she visibly stiffened. A look of understanding suddenly passed over Felicity's face as another man stepped into the room, a CPS badge clipped to his belt. His skin was as dark as ebony, and he carried himself as if he was about to lunge at you. His presence was unsettling.

"Felicity Georgiana Muller?" He asked gravely, stepping forward.

"I understand why you are here, but I'm afraid there has been a mistake." Felicity continued in her dangerous voice, eyes fixed on the man. Sherlock scowled, realizing as well what was going on, but poor John was still in the dark, watching the exchange between the man and Felicity closely.

"My name is Eugene Block with Child Protection Services. If you come with me, we can get you back to where you belong." He continued as if she hadn't spoken. Felicity strode up to him with the scariest look John had ever seen on anyone's face. Felicity was as white as a sheet, her dark, angry eyes and her flaming red hair making her look incredibly intimidating for someone who was only twelve.

"There is no problem here." She said slowly, carefully, in a voice so furious that the officers in the room turned briefly to look at her in shock. "I would appreciate it if you stopped pointing guns at my friends and I would appreciate it if you left us alone."

"Miss Muller, I understand that you may be upset with your current situation. If you come with me, we can get this all sorted out." Block said firmly, not backing down under her furious stare. "By law, when a child is under suspicion of abduction or has actually been abducted, they must be turned over into the custody of Child Protection Services until an investigation can be performed."

"Abduction?" John spluttered, looking between the cops and Felicity.

"Sir, you are advised to remain silent." The officer who had his gun pointed at John spoke up instantly, cutting John off from saying anything more. The room went silent as Block and Felicity stared each other down. Block was an intimidating man to begin with, but was no match for Felicity's ferocity. He seemed to realize that as he absorbed her drilling gaze.

"Miss Muller, you need to come with me right now." Block repeated sharply when Felicity said nothing. Felicity took a deep breath and then let it go, staring at Block with unmasked hatred. She knew exactly what was happening here; Ruth's Academy had somehow figured out that Sherlock had helped her escape. Any video footage, to someone who didn't know Sherlock's relationship with Felicity, would look an awful lot like Sherlock was kidnapping her. If an investigation had been launched, she would most likely be returned to Ruth's, and that was something that Felicity did _not _want to happen. However, something about this was wrong, so wrong, and Felicity couldn't figure out what that was. The only way to gather more data would be to go with CPS.

"Fine, let's go." She said softly, her voice losing none of its severity. Block gestured for her to leave first and she did, head held high. The two officers upstairs cuffed John and Sherlock and were escorting them out down the steps when they caught a glimpse of Mrs. Hudson being questioned by another officer. Felicity was already gone by the time they were driven in the back of a squad car to the police station. As soon as the two of them were booked and left in a cell alone, Sherlock started to pace back and forth anxiously. Something was horribly, horribly wrong, Sherlock knew it; he could _feel _it.

"Sherlock, what the hell is going on? What's happening?" John asked, and Sherlock ruffled his curls in frustration.

"I helped Felicity escape from that prison of a school she was attending. Our departure must have been caught on film. If anyone were to view that film, it would look as if I were abducting Felicity." Sherlock rattled off quickly, his mind not even focusing on his response. He was trying to figure out what was off about the investigation. There was something else, a piece to the puzzle that hadn't been revealed.

"_What? _That's preposterous! Felicity clearly told the officers that she hadn't been kidnapped! Wouldn't footage from CCTV cameras show that she wasn't under any type of stress like an abducted child would? Speaking of CCTV, what about Mycroft? Wouldn't he have had the authority and the clearance to know of the case and stop it before it even started?" John's brain launched into overdrive as he tried to process.

"I don't know." Sherlock very nearly spat, furious that for the first time in his life he didn't know what was going on. Why hadn't Mycroft caught this? Why had the investigation gone forward despite outright evidence that Felicity left Ruth's under her own steam? Finally, what was staring Sherlock in the face and yet he couldn't see it?

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Have some mystery, dear readers! This chapter was hard to write because there are so many reunion-fics out there. I tried to have mine be original, I hope it was ok...? I don't like the dramatic faint or the punch to the face, or the emotional downpour, that stuff is shit, honestly. ANYWAY, yes, a new mystery has arisen along with Sherlock's return! Why is CPS involved? A cyber-hug and a virtual cookie to whoever guesses correctly... :D**

**And, I am proud to say that along with Sherlock coming back there will also be some feelings...some...JOHNLOCK feelings...(YEAH BOI!) so keep an eye out for what I promised you. I know I asked you guys if it would be ok ages ago but I was completely serious! It's coming! Just...be patient. It's not like I'm keeping you from S3 or anything...right? Right.**

**As always, your reviews give me miniature heart attacks and I love them, so therefore, I love you as well. Thank you!**

**Finally, my lovely beta, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr, is an amazingly witty and awesome person and the best beta ever. Thank you!**


	15. Chapter 15

"So, let me get this straight. When you were seven years old you ran away from your neighbors care, got yourself to London all by yourself, and you stayed with the two suspects for a week?" Block asked incredulously, staring at Felicity. They were sitting in an interrogation room down at Scotland Yard at a cool metal table. Block was leaning over, trying to engage Felicity in the conversation. Felicity was sitting up so stiffly she looked to be made of ice as she sat perfectly still, her dark, angry eyes fixed on Block's face. She had very quickly and very acerbically described her past with Sherlock and John, trying to make it clear to this idiot that Sherlock and John weren't suspects and that there was no kidnapping for him to investigate.

"They aren't suspects." The words lashed out of Felicity's mouth so fast, Block almost didn't catch them. He stared at her for a moment before rubbing his face. She was the most unforgiving and intimidating person he'd ever met and she was just a kid. She'd frightened most of the staff at the Yard, given a thorough verbal lashing to another CPS agent, and her eyes were so menacing that they gave him the shivers. She was so cold and so obviously smarter than you that it made you uncomfortable.

"The Yard is working with CPS right now to clear the two of them of any wrongdoing. Until they are cleared, they are still suspects. You might know this, but we don't." He reminded her firmly, and the unmoving form of Felicity stared back at him. Her gaze was starting to make him slightly nervous; did she _ever _blink? "While the investigation is still ongoing, you will remain here under my care. When all the loose ends are wrapped up, I will escort you back to…Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies." He said, shifting paperwork to find the name of the school. Despite this girl's attitude, he felt sorry for her. There was much more that remained to be explained to her, and he didn't want to be the one to do it.

"Why?" Felicity was suddenly leaning forward, her hands pressed to the table as her eyes devoured his image, trying to find a clue that didn't exist. "Why is CPS involved? If this was any other case, any normal case of abduction, only the local police would be involved. When their investigation led them to London, they would inform the Yard, not you. _Why are you here?" _She demanded. CPS was usually called when there was suspicion of abuse or significant danger to a child's life. Because neither of those conditions were present here, what was going on?

"I'm afraid I'm not the one to disclose that information. When this investigation ends, you will meet with other agents who explain the situation to you. Until then, you will remain in my custody." Block said, meeting her gaze without flinching. Felicity made a frustrated noise, standing up and pacing along the back wall of the interrogation room. Block said nothing, letting her pace anxiously until she finally settled down on the floor cross-legged, closing her eyes. She was instantly in her mind-skyscraper, free from the stress and emotion that was slowly crushing her. In the skyscraper, she was free to think. She silently ran through a recitation in her brain (the anatomy of nerve cells) to calm herself, but it didn't work as well as she'd hoped. Depression and fear were lurking, waiting for Felicity to slip up. She really, _really _didn't want to return to Ruth's Academy. Now that she'd been given a taste of freedom she didn't want to go back ever, ever again. She was tired of bottling herself up, tired of constantly being hated by everyone around her. In London, people understood her quirks, her nature, her genius, and Felicity was sure that if that were to go away, she wouldn't be able to handle two more years at Ruth's until Charley's deployment was over.

Finally, after about three hours, a man with graying hair, a slightly tanned face, and tired eyes stuck his head around the door. At his entrance, Felicity knew exactly who he was. She stood instantly. "You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade. I've heard a lot about you from Sherlock." She said plainly, and Lestrade blinked.

"Yeah, that's me. It's good to meet you, Felicity." He said, and shook her hand when she politely offered it. "The representative is here," he told Block, suddenly looking more tired than before. His reaction made her stomach twist.

"I'm assuming that Sherlock and John have been cleared of any wrongdoing?" She asked Lestrade as she followed him out into the hall, Block close behind.

"Yeah. This was just a big misunderstanding. His brother helped a lot, to be honest with you." Lestrade babbled a bit nervously as they walked out into a large bullpen area. Officers were working in cubicles busily, phones rang, and coffee pots gurgled. "Through there, in the conference room." Lestrade directed Block, seeing that Mycroft was waiting for the DI in front of his office, tapping his umbrella against the floor impatiently.

"Thanks for all your help, Greg." Block said quickly before following his young charge as she started out without him. Felicity's heart had flown into her throat at the sight of Mycroft standing there. As soon as he'd laid eyes on her his expression had changed. Her mind put together the pieces and presented her with the most logical answer as to what was happening, but her heart fought the idea down, hoping, begging, pleading, that for once she was wrong. Block opened the door for her, and Felicity walked into the conference room.

**OoOoOoO**

Less than five minutes later, Sherlock and John found themselves in front of the DI's office with the man himself, as well as Mycroft. As they walked up, they noticed how Lestrade and Mycroft were watching the door to the conference room, talking quietly. "Where is Felicity?" Sherlock fired off at once, ignoring evidence as his heart got in the way. When Mycroft sent him a look, he phrased a different question. "With whom is she talking?" Sherlock asked, and Lestrade grimaced to the carpet.

"An army representative here on behalf of Charley Muller." Mycroft said tonelessly, his grip on his umbrella tightening. Sherlock stiffened, rotating to look from Mycroft to the conference room, all the facts falling into place.

"What?" John asked, confused, dread building in his gut. He thought he knew what Mycroft meant, but he wasn't sure.

"He's dead, John." Sherlock snarled. "When an investigation for a kidnapping begins, the family is automatically contacted. For a man in the army, special accommodations would have been made, as Mycroft mentioned having to field when he was in our flat. When Charley Muller couldn't be contacted because he was dead, his will would have been sent for and CPS called when it became clear that no other living relatives or guardians existed to be consulted about the kidnapping. Now that it is clear that no such crime existed, a representative for the army has been called in to tell Felicity of her brother's death, a common courtesy, I'm sure." His words kept coming and coming; all of Sherlock's worry and protectiveness poured into every sentence, every syllable. John's eyes widened in shock and horror as Sherlock continued. Charley Muller was _dead?_

"But- what will happen to Felicity?" John spluttered, turning to Mycroft and Lestrade.

"Mr. Muller's will is being gone over to look for any specific instructions in regards to Felicity's welfare. While that happens, Felicity will stay at Ruth's Academy until her contract ends." Mycroft continued tonelessly.

"No. I won't allow it. That place is poison for her!" Sherlock hissed, running his hands through his hair, trying to think. Sentiment was fogging his brain, making it almost impossible for him to put his brilliant mind to good use. There had to be something he could do, anything to keep Felicity from going back to the Academy.

"And what is supposed to happen after her schooling is done with? Does she become an orphan until she's legally an adult?" John asked, and Lestrade nodded once. John gaped at him, his mind spinning as he tried to come up with answers. The choice he knew that he wanted slammed into his head within seconds. "We'll just adopt her, then." He tried to say it calmly, seriously, but it came out strained. Mycroft blinked at him, surprised by his offer.

"Yes! Brilliant, John. As her legal guardians, we would be able to remove Felicity from the institution she currently attends." Sherlock's head shot up at John's suggestion.

"Sherlock," Mycroft started warningly, but Sherlock cut him off.

"I know what you are going to say, Mycroft. I know that caring is not an advantage; I know that all hearts are broken. I don't care. Felicity is just like you and I. I tried to keep her from the suffering she has gone through in growing up, and I have failed in that regard. Despite that, I will _not _let a little girl go back to a boarding school that is torture for her directly after the passing of her one and only family member!" Sherlock said in a very low and very dangerous voice. At the mention of a boarding school, Mycroft's expression hardened, making John wonder if Sherlock wasn't the only one who could empathize with Felicity.

"Sherlock, you were just under suspicion of kidnapping her and now you want to adopt her? CPS will take one look at you and laugh you out the door. Even if they would consider you and John for guardians, you'd have to pass inspections on the flat, your job is too dangerous, and you and John are not the ideal people to be in responsible of a foster child." Lestrade picked up where Mycroft had left off, his voice quiet.

"And I might be helpful in legal aspects, but I have very little weight with Child Protection Services, Sherlock. They operate independently from most governmental ties in an effort to better protect the children in their care." Mycroft spoke when Sherlock looked as if he could punch Lestrade.

"I will not stand by and do nothing." Sherlock said firmly.

**oOoOoOo**

As soon as Felicity had entered the conference room, she felt her heart shatter into millions of pieces. Standing on the other side of the room was a man by the name of Steven Ardent. Felicity knew him well; Charley had written about him in the letters he sent her. The _only _reason why Steven would be here instead of Charley was if her brother, her rock, her last living relative, was dead.

"Felicity? My name is-" Steven started, but Felicity cut him off so softly it made a lump rise in his throat.

"Steven Ardent," the words somehow made it out of her mouth. It felt like the entire world was slowing, time was shuddering to a halt. Sounds seemed magnified and for the first time in her whole life, Felicity Muller's mind went completely silent. Steven was still clad in his uniform and looked tired- he'd been immediately flown out of Kuwait to break the news to her. He crossed over to Felicity and knelt so he could look up into her face instead of down at it.

"Felicity, I'd know you anywhere. The day our unit was shipped out, everyone on that bus had to watch your brother say goodbye to you. None of us had a whole lot of family or friends to see us off, so watching Charley have to leave behind something so precious made the whole regiment very angry. It was painful to watch Charley write letters to you, and it was worse to see him receiving them. You'd send him so many pictures and be so descriptive about your time in school that all of us felt like you were _our _little sister." Steven started quietly. Felicity froze at his remarks, face white. "Two days ago we were returning to the base and took enemy fire. Your brother saved a lot of people before he was killed. I speak for the whole regiment when we say that any of us would take his place if that meant that you weren't alone in this world. We've watched you grown up through letters and pictures and we all know how incredibly gifted you are. The unit as a whole would like to offer our deepest condolences and a presence at your brother's funeral." He continued, voice tight with restrained grief.

"Thank you," Felicity whispered. Throughout his entire speech she'd felt numb, broken. Her mind registered what he was saying, but she couldn't make sense of anything. Everything was wrong, wrong, _wrong _and she couldn't comprehend how to fix it. Her brother was _dead. _Every guise, façade and act Felicity had been putting up since her brother had been deployed were wiped away to reveal the truth- that Felicity was nothing more than a very scared, very lonely twelve year old girl. Without her brother as her foundation, she was completely and utterly lost. Stephen quickly pulled her into a hug, his military bulk swallowing up her bony frame. When he eventually pulled away, Felicity looked dead; her body looked lifeless. Her grief was so strong that her mind had shut down, leaving her as an empty, function-less shell. Her mind was stuck, trying to compute the fact that he was gone.

"I'll walk with you to the car, ok? Then the regiment and I will be there for the funeral." Stephen said, standing up and putting a guiding arm around her shoulders. He caught Block's gaze, who had been standing quietly in the corner the whole time. The CPS agent nodded, opening the door. Stephen guided Felicity out, Block close behind them. As they headed for the lift, footsteps started to follow them.

"Felicity?" Sherlock and John had instantly whirled to watch the door to the conference room when it opened. The emptiness on Felicity's face made Sherlock angry that anyone or anything could ever make her look and feel that way. One thing was certain in his mind; he had to speak with her, even for a few seconds, before she was spirited off to Ruth's. As Sherlock caught up to them, Block turned around and blocked his path. Stephen slowed to a stop, his grip tightening protectively around Felicity as he sized up the tall, furious man in the dark coat. He'd heard about how Felicity had been possibly abducted on his way over, and his screaming guilt and lingering need to protect Felicity automatically put him on edge.

"Sir, you need to stand back." Block said firmly, holding his ground even when Sherlock gave him a vicious glare. Block's hand drifted to his side-arm as a warning; Sherlock needed to give them space, or else.

"I'd like a word with Felicity if you don't mind." Sherlock said in a deadly calm. Felicity was standing motionless under Stephen's arm, having not even turned her head to look at Sherlock. Even though Sherlock could only see her profile, he knew how she really felt just by looking at her. The stillness, the paleness- it all spoke volumes to him. Felicity was so afraid, so grief-stricken, that her brilliant mind had completely shut down. She needed time to grieve, and returning her to Ruth's would only make things worse.

"Miss Muller is being escorted back to school, Mr. Holmes." Block very nearly smirked, his tone making it clear that he wanted to have the last word. Sherlock ignored him.

"Felicity," he called her name quietly, looking past the CPS agent to let his stare unleash itself on Felicity. After a moment she blinked, turning her head a fraction of an inch to look at him. Sherlock said nothing, letting his gaze do the talking. As their eyes met, he sent her a clear message. _Stay strong. _

"Right, come on then." Block insisted, turning his back on Sherlock. With that direction, Stephen went to guide Felicity along, but she was frozen, staring at Sherlock. A bit of her fear was starting to show as she looked at Sherlock, a silent plea. She knew that she had to go back to Ruth's, at least until things settled down, and she knew that Sherlock could do nothing to help her, not yet; but for once, her heart overruled her head- she didn't think she could handle the institution, the emotion she'd been bottling up, _and _her brother's death. Above all, Felicity wanted Sherlock and John; she wanted their comfort.

"Come on, Felicity." Stephen muttered, and with increased pressure on her shoulders, Felicity looked away and allowed herself to be walked down the hall and ushered into the lift. As soon as the doors closed, Sherlock whirled, stalking back to Mycroft, John, and Lestrade.

"I need to see that will. Now."

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: I killed Charley. :( BROWNIE POINTS to TheGirlWhoImagined for guessing correctly! I'm sorry that I killed him but there is much, MUCH more to come so hopefully once the drama and angst passes the fluff will make up for it. This chapter was shorter, and I'm sorry for that, but once I killed Charley I was like...ehhhhh NOPE. **

**Also, I'm thinking about getting some art commissioned for this story! I think the visual of Sherlock and a little girl would make this story much better. What do you guys think? Anything you'd want to see? Are any of you artists that could draw for me? Let me know! **

**You reviews are amazing and take heart that if I made you cry you probably made me cry. Tear for a tear? **

**louisuperwholocked on Tumblr is the best beta ever and I love her, in case you didn't know.**

**FIN (for now)**


	16. Chapter 16

Felicity was mute.

She couldn't think, couldn't speak; she could barely breathe. Felicity felt as if every color had faded away until she could only see the world in blurring shades of grey. The car ride was gloomy. Her meeting with the superintendent had been in black and white. Now, as she sat in her room, staring at the burn marks on the wall from her attack on Sherlock, the world was still blank to her. The simplest tasks; eating, sleeping, working: they were all so foreign. How could she keep on going when she had no fuel? Eventually, she was pulled out of her daze by a sharp _chirp _from her computer. When she checked it, Felicity found an email from a blocked address which could only mean one thing- Mycroft. The school's policy had never let her receive emails before, and the blocked address had to be Mycroft's doing.

_Felicity,_

_If things are to get better, preparations need to be made. At the present, CPS has gone over Charley's will and they have made the recommendation to keep you at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies until your tuition runs out two years from now. This should not and cannot occur. To circumnavigate this, you need to graduate as soon as possible. When that happens, you will become a ward of the state, which will make you available for adoption. Sherlock and John have already begun to make the necessary requests into becoming your legal guardians. Even with my help, this process will take a considerable amount of time- a week at best. _

_I will continue to email you in an effort to keep you updated on the stipulations in Charley's will. With your help, I can clear up a lot of the issues standing between you and adoption. Remember that I cannot help you unless you help yourself. I do not wish to pretend that I understand your grief, but know that I do empathize. _

_Begin to get your credits in order. Attached to this email is a list of tasks that I have already performed in your stead. Look over them to make sure that I have handled your family's belongings with the upmost care. The superintendent has already been notified of your pursuits to graduate and will help you in any way possible. Once you are ready, Ruth's will contact myself and CPS to make your transition to adoption as smooth as possible._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Mycroft Holmes _

Felicity stared at the email until her eyes watered with tears. Her world was falling apart and Mycroft, John, and Sherlock were there, trying to hold all the pieces for her. Their kindness threatened to overwhelm her, but Mycroft's words had broken through her numb delirium. _Begin to get your credits in order. _She needed to graduate as soon as possible. She had to work. With that one goal pushing at her blank mind, Felicity started her task mindlessly. She gathered papers, breezed through assignments, and talked with her professors. She was still flat, still dead on the outside, but her insides thrummed with life. Once Felicity started to hand in weeks and weeks of work in a matter of hours, her credits began to pile up. She took exam after exam, skipped a few grades, and wrote a thesis over a 48 hour period that would have made Sherlock proud.

**OoOoOoO**

Through it all, John and Sherlock threw themselves into the adoption process. After a day-long battle with CPS, their names were cleared from the 'never let these maniacs adopt' list. Mycroft's heavy hand of influence helped get an inspector at the flat the next day, which sent Mrs. Hudson, John and Sherlock into a flurry of cleaning, hiding and organizing until the flat was almost decent. Next came the interviews. John passed his with flying colors, having a solid, criminal free record. He was a soldier, a doctor, a good person in the eyes of CPS. Sherlock, however, had quite a few problems. He had a history of stealing, breaking and entering, and drug use. He had to get quite a few people to testify for him, but thanks to his never ending supply of people who owed him favors, CPS grudgingly passed him on the interview. After a long and lengthy confusion on CPS' part on whether John and Sherlock were a couple (John and Sherlock couldn't answer because they weren't sure themselves), the doctor and the detective were added to the list of potential adopters as two legal guardians at the same residence.

Then came the adoption process. Because Felicity was a child at risk and her life was currently tied up in a legal nightmare, she wasn't put on the register for almost three days. Sherlock and John had done all they could, so this time period weighed heavily on them. With nothing to do, Sherlock became more and more agitated. Every second Felicity was at Ruth's she would be getting worse and worse. His guilt, his worry, his need to protect was killing him because he couldn't apply it to the person for whom he felt the sentiment in the first place. Mycroft texted him hourly with updates, and with snippets of the emails she sent him, but they were all dry, flat quotes that Sherlock could deduce nothing from.

He met often with Mycroft. The two of them had been in separate boarding schools when their father passed away, and both of them knew what it was like to hide emotion, to be hated by everyone around you. Both men were practically twitching at the nostalgia as they discussed arrangements for Charley's funeral. Because the adoption process was taking so much time, Charley had been cremated on base in Kuwait and his ashes were to be returned home. Charley's regiment had been notified of the delay in the service, and the men only responded with concerns for Felicity. Most of them were still in Kuwait, unable to take time off for the funeral until they had a set date to ask for. All of them wanted to know the men who were about to take their 'communal little sister' into their custody, so John and Sherlock slogged through email after email, sending reassurance and explaining themselves. Once their history with Felicity was made clear, every soldier was relieved, and offered thanks for their support.

The days ticked by as each side in the adoption process waited impatiently.

**OoOoOoO**

Five days since her brother's death, Felicity was sitting in front of the superintendent, white-faced and exhausted. Her skin had a nasty pallor to it; she hadn't eaten or slept since his death. Despite her suffering, she had worked, and hard. All of her credits were in order, and the superintendent had pushed a sealed and gilded envelope across the table towards Felicity. It was her GED- she was a graduate; she was free from the school's prison like schedule. Until a meeting could be arranged through CPS and adoption services, Felicity was a guest at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies.

While the superintendent was a hard faced, cold man, he knew true sorrow when he saw it; he happened to get a heavy dose of it whenever he met with the most troublesome, brilliant student he'd ever admitted to the Academy. She was sitting silently in front of him now, her eyes glazed with exhaustion and grief as they stared at the envelope on the desk. Compassion rose up in the man from an unknown place, pushing him to speak. "Felicity, when was the last time you ate or slept?" He asked quietly, worriedly, and it took her a moment to look at him.

"Irrelevant." Her voice was hoarse and lifeless as she slowly took the envelope. Her fingers were shaking, the superintendent noted. Those long, pale digits were trembling so badly, it was hard for her to get a good grip on her diploma. "Thank you for easing my graduation process, sir." She said, her tone clearly asking for dismissal.

"Felicity, I know that you are no longer under my jurisdiction, but I strongly advise you to get some rest. I'll send someone up when CPS has contacted my office." He said firmly, and her haunted gaze met his for a minute longer before she rose, giving him a terse nod before walking stiffly out. A rational part of her realized that he was right as she slowly made her way back to her room. Dark spots were growing in her peripheral vision, and her knees felt weak. Her mind instantly pushed the symptoms aside; she needed to contact Mycroft at once with the news of her graduation. Felicity had made it to her room and had just tucked the certificate out of sight when her door opened and a few girls stepped in to her room, Wellembry in the lead. Her smirk was feral.

"Aw, look. The freak is leaving us. How sad." She said with mock sorrow, and the girls sniggered. "You weren't even going to say goodbye, were you? Just because your prick brother couldn't do the same to you doesn't mean that you could be rude enough to not do the same for us." Wellembry snarled, motioning for the door to Felicity's room to be closed. The door swung shut with a foreboding click. The comment lashed into Felicity's mind, making her want to scream and cry and attack all at once. She was obviously hurt, obviously grieving, and yet the torture still had to continue? It didn't seem fair. Wellembry sauntered forward, eyes glittering with malice. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that your brother was a _soldier, _someone to be treated with respect. My apologies." She mocked, and threw a punch. Felicity made no move to defend herself, so the resulting blow hit her square in the jaw, snapping her head to the side. Another punch hit her eye. A blow hit her in the ribs, the force of it sending her staggering back into the desk. "Here's a little goodbye present, from all of us here at Ruth's." Wellembry hissed, and the girls converged.

Kicks, punches and jabs landed everywhere as Felicity quickly crumpled under the onslaught of violence. There was no protecting herself against them; there were too many and she was in no state, mentally or physically, to defend herself. She took the abuse without protest, without any sort of defense. After a few minutes, the girls backed off, retreating out of her room, giggling under their breath as they snuck back to their own rooms. Felicity lay where the last kick had sent her- sprawled on her side, the carpet pressing against her already sore and bruising eye. She made no move to get up for the longest time, as her dulled mind struggled to process her physical pain with her mental one. A sick part of her savored the agony- she finally felt the same on the outside as she did on the inside. She had the perfect metaphor for how she'd been feeling this whole time. Only when her beaten muscles started to cramp and ache in protest did Felicity slowly get to her feet, staggering with dizziness. She made it to the computer, sitting painfully down and booting it up. She had one thing to do before she collapsed.

_Mycroft,_

_You will soon receive word of my graduation from Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies. Thank you for your support an input during the process. What is the status of my adoption?_

_Sincerely,_

_Felicity_

With that quick email sent, Felicity methodically changed out of her now ripped and rumpled clothes and into pajamas. She checked for serious injuries and only found lots of heavy bruises pretty much everywhere. Unable to dwell on her attack with her numbed mind, she locked her door and crawled into bed. Too exhausted to cry or think anymore, she succumbed to sleep. When she woke up, it was instantly obvious to her that time had passed. For one thing, her joints, which would have been swollen up to twelve hours after the beating they received, were not swollen. She was dreadfully sore and stiff, but her joints were all in working order. Secondly, her mind was for once numb from a different agent; this time, her mind was lethargic from sleeping for a long time. Thirdly, from her position on the bed, she could see that her door had been unlocked and then closed again without the deadbolt being refastened. Conclusion: she'd slept for about twenty four hours and someone from Ruth's had come to check on her after she didn't respond to someone coming up to speak with her. Something had to have happened if an official from the school had been up to see her.

Wasting no time, Felicity limped out of bed and into her bathroom. One shower later, she was dressed in clean, dark clothes. She pulled her fiery hair back into a simple bun and then studied her reflection. The clothing she chose covered her from head to toe except for her face to hide the deep bruises Wellembry's attack had left. Despite that, she had an impressive black eye on the same side that her old elementary school bully had blackened so long ago. It took a while, but Felicity soon masked the bruise expertly with makeup, blending the powders and goop into her skin to hide the fact that she was wearing any in the first place; she didn't want people to notice. Her face was grim, colorless, and gaunt as it stared back at her, her usually bright and intelligent eyes still dulled with loss. It took her a while to look away from her face in the mirror. Listlessly, she went to her computer to check for updates.

_Felicity,_

_Congratulations on your graduation from secondary school as well as university. You have been admitted to the list of adoptable children by CPS and are awaiting your matchup with Sherlock and John. The arrangements have been finalized for your brother's funeral and all of your belongings from your previous residence in Sussex have been placed in storage or have been relocated to 221B, as per your request._

_Sincerely Yours, _

_Mycroft Holmes_

Beneath that email, there was a second one.

_Felicity,_

_You have been matched with Sherlock and John. Because of your silence, I had an officer of Ruth's check on you. Please refrain from scaring us like that again. Your final meeting regarding your adoption and the finalization of Charley's will is scheduled to take place on Friday. CPS agent Eugene Block will escort you from Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies to Scotland Yard. _

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Mycroft Holmes _

Felicity glanced at the date and time located at the bottom of her computer screen. It was five in the morning, but today was in fact Friday. She would be leaving Ruth's _today. _Meek joy filtered into her thoughts as she stared at the computer. This nightmare was ending; she'd be in London again soon, in the safe protection of John and Sherlock. That thought in mind, she went down to the kitchens and ate a meager meal, just enough to keep her going through the day. Then she went upstairs and packed. An officer came up around seven to ask her to pack and was surprised to find her sitting on an unmade bed, all of her belongings packed neatly into boxes around her. It took another half hour for the CPS agent to arrive. Block did a slight double take at the sight of Felicity, but got all of her things shipped out nonetheless. He ushered her to his awaiting vehicle and drove her back to London in silence.

When they arrived at the Yard, Block ushered her into the same interrogation room she'd been in a week before. "Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson are currently meeting with your adoption agent. Once your lawyer arrives, we will finalize all paperwork and send you home." Block told Felicity as she silently sat down, her beaten muscles thankful for the relief. Felicity said nothing. Instead, she gazed at the metal tabletop. After about twenty minutes, Block's mobile phone went off. "Agent Block," he answered it, and listened for a few moments. "Alright, thank you. We're on our way." He affirmed, and shut the phone. He expected Felicity to leap up and head for the door at the news that her lawyer was here, but she hadn't moved an inch. He cleared his throat, expecting a reaction, and received none. "Your lawyer is here, Felicity." He declared finally, and she blinked, breaking out of her daze to look at him. Before, Block had been intimidated by her cold, drilling stare. Now, he couldn't be more horrified by the blank, lost look on her face. Her eyes were dull, not able to focus even when they were staring right at him.

Felicity rose, just remembering to act as if she wasn't sore and bruised- if CPS found out about her attack, they would want to perform an investigation that could take weeks to resolve. All she wanted was to go home. Block put a sure arm around her shoulders and steered her through the familiar office and to the same conference room where she'd heard the news of her brother's death. He knocked. "Come in," an unfamiliar, reedy voice called, and Block opened the door, guiding Felicity through. Seated at the long conference table were four people. On one side, a middle-aged man with a CPS badge was sitting with a stack of papers in front of him. Next to him was a much more posh man in a tan trench coat with a briefcase; the lawyer. Both men rose as Felicity entered. On the other side of the table were Sherlock and John. The previously firm, military look on John's face fell to the wayside at the sight of Felicity to instantly be replaced with anxiousness. Sherlock had twitched as if to stand, his had clenching into a fist on the table. He watched as Felicity silently shook hands with her lawyer when he insisted, watched as Block pulled up a chair for her, and watched as she sat down, looking into her lap.

"Alright, let's make this quick, shall we?" The other CPS agent with the reedy voice spoke first as everyone stared at Felicity, waiting for her to make the first move. When it was obvious that she wasn't going to, he felt compelled to act. "All of the papers are in order. Felicity, do you understand that you will be under the legal guardianship of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson?" He asked, and Felicity gave a mute nod. "And this is agreeable to you?" He pressed, and she nodded again, just once. He looked to the lawyer, who cleared his throat in a gesture of self-importance. He reached into his briefcase and withdrew a packet of finely printed paper. He breezed through the summary of what the papers were (legally binding documents that placed Felicity in the joint custody of the two men) and then shuffled to the back page, where there were six lines for signatures.

"Would the two gentlemen please sign?" He asked, passing a pen to Sherlock and John. The detective and the doctor quickly signed on the lines as instructed and passed the pen back. "Then the two witnesses from CPS," the lawyer directed, and the reedy-voiced man and Agent Block signed the documents. "Ms. Felicity?" the lawyer questioned, extending the pen to her. No one at the table missed how Felicity's fingers shook as she plucked the pen from his grasp and signed her name. She felt like her heart was shattering all over again- she was no longer a Muller. Her family was gone forever. Signing the papers seemed to make it official that Charley was in fact dead and he wasn't coming back. "And my turn…" the lawyer made a brief scribble, "There. Felicity Georgiana Muller is now Felicity Georgiana Watson-Holmes, under the joint custody of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. You are all free to go." He said in much too jovial of a tone, capping the pen and slipping the document into his briefcase once more. As soon as he said it, both John and Sherlock stood up at once. Felicity was much slower on the uptake, and so by the time she'd gotten out of her seat, Sherlock and John were already there, Sherlock in the lead.

In an instant he'd embraced her, hugged her close. The smell of his coat, the strength of his arms, the safety and comfort that he brought; it was all too much for Felicity. Tears threatened to spring from her eyes for the first time since Charley was killed. She hadn't allowed herself to cry, not when there was work to be done. Now that it was all over, her body screamed for the ugly release of crying. Despite that need, Felicity held herself back. She didn't want to cry here, not with the CPS agents watching, not with all of the Yard's officers watching. She still felt as if she had to be in control every second of every day, and the only place she could even consider losing it was at Baker Street with her two best friends at her side. "Please get me out of here. Please, Sherlock." Felicity managed to whisper as she tried to quell her shaking. Sherlock reacted at once.

"John, call Mycroft, make sure there is a car ready and waiting for us." He said in a low, intense voice by Felicity's ear. John made some noise of assent as the CPS agents and the lawyer filed out. "Do you want me to carry you, Felicity?" Sherlock asked, and Felicity shook her head. She knew that she needed to walk, needed to make it to the car, but all her sentiment-hijacked mind wanted to do was stay in the folds of Sherlock's coat. "Let's get you home." Sherlock said half firmly, half worriedly. It was that gentle order that made Felicity get a hold of herself. She released the limp pressure she'd managed to apply in return of Sherlock's embrace and she straightened, bottling emotion away hopefully for the last time. Sherlock looked at her face briefly, as if to confirm that she didn't need carrying, and Felicity was relieved somewhere in her head that Sherlock was too preoccupied to notice the carefully blended makeup around her left eye. Sherlock wrapped a strong arm around her and steered her out, John in the lead. As they left the Yard, a jet black car pulled up. John barely waited for the car to stop before opening the door for Sherlock and Felicity. Sherlock ducked in first, then Felicity, and John brought up the rear. As soon as the door to the car closed, Felicity lost it.

She couldn't remember the last time she cried this hard and for this long. As soon as the horrible world she'd been stuck in for a week was cut off, every emotion, every bit of pain she'd felt came pouring out of her now that she finally trusted herself and the people around her. The sobs shook her whole body as she wept and wept, barely able to realize that Sherlock was rocking her in his lap, once in a while pressing a quick peck to the side of her head. It took her awhile to notice when she was in 221B. She couldn't remember getting out of the car and she couldn't remember ending up in the flat and in Sherlock's bed- her detective on one side and her doctor on the other. "Felicity, what can we do to help you?" John asked a few minutes after her sobs died down. He sounded strained as he gently rubbed her bony back, unaware that hidden under her clothes were deep and sensitive bruises.

"Just—don't go. Stay with me," Felicity begged in a whisper, curling up into a little ball. With Sherlock to her back and John to her front, Felicity drifted off in a haze of exhaustion and grief.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Blarg more whumpage on poor Felicity. Sorry about that...I thought it would be appropriate; I mean, her brother, her last living family member was just killed and then she had to go back to this shit school and get the shit beaten out of her...(then again, I did all that so I really must be evil. MUAHAHHAHAHAA!)But now the angst should be over, and your reward for waiting so patiently will be parental!Sherlock and John and some Johnlock goodness soon to come...ehehehehehheheeee!**

**You are all incredibly wonderful, by the way, and I hope your day is going fantastically well. :)**

**louisuperwholocked is the best beta in the entire fucking universe. Thank you for dealing with my weirdness, dear.**


	17. Chapter 17

John never thought this would happen to him, not ever.

He had adopted a girl with his friend and flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. The two of them were _fathers _now. The idea seemed so ridiculous that John had to repeat it over and over in his head to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. He had adopted with the craziest but best man he had ever known. The lingering idea that he and Sherlock could be 'fathers' in every sense of the word made John even more giddy and incredulous of his situation than ever. Their fleeting glances, moments of comfort, childlike bouts of fun with Felicity, it had all been building up to something, and John wasn't sure what the conclusion would be. The fact that everyone, including CPS seemed to think that he and Sherlock were a couple didn't help John to think clearly either. The two of them had never addressed the feelings they'd had when Felicity stayed with them, and CPS' suspicions had brought those thoughts back up to the forefront of John's mind.

He looked down at the girl currently curled against him, her face buried into his jumper. Felicity had cried like he had never seen anyone cry before. The sorrow that had come out of every pore on her body was unsettling and made John grieve along with her. Charley had been a good man and had died far too young. He had deserved so much better in life; more time with his sister, more time with his parents, and more time free from the strains of raising his baby sister by himself. John felt a bit like a traitor trying to replace the gaping hole in Felicity that Charley's death had left, but he knew that he and Sherlock were the best people to fill it. Perhaps their love for Felicity and for each othercould help her remember and yet move on. When Felicity had fallen asleep clutched to him, it was obvious that John wasn't going to be going anywhere for a while. Even though Felicity had begged both the doctor and the detective to stay with her, life was still going on. Things still needed to be sorted- and that meant that Sherlock had to leave. John could see on his face how it hurt him to leave, but Sherlock had left all the same, determined to try and fix everything, to try and make it right.

As the two of them had lain on Sherlock's bed, Felicity in the middle, unspoken thoughts were agreed upon as the two men looked at each other over their now mutual burden. It was clear that until Felicity was stronger, there would be no cases, no criminals, and no danger. The two of them had to be there for Felicity until she didn't need them constantly by her side. The decision to adopt her had been instant, no going back, and Sherlock and John had barely spoken about it. Now that the actual deed was done, it was clear that both of them would have to sacrifice a lot to give Felicity the support she needed. John couldn't help but wonder as he stared at Sherlock if the two of them could handle such a task. Their week with Felicity all those years ago had been effortless, simple, but things were different now. Also, something other than Felicity lay unresolved between them. Despite their worry for Felicity's obvious suffering, a bit of tension still bristled in the air. John and Sherlock had never lay on the same bed and simply _stared _at each other. The effect was maddening. John had followed the curls lying on Sherlock's forehead, studied Sherlock's perfect lips, and stared into his icy grey eyes without suspicion. Likewise, Sherlock's eyes followed the contours of John's body, stared into his blue orbs, and without a doubt lingered on the doctor's hands, gentle yet capable, as they stroked Felicity's hair comfortingly. With Felicity in mind, it was clear that they would have to lie low for a while, allowing Mycroft to send people out to run their errands for them until the press stopped bleating on about Sherlock and fueling the fire with ridiculous speculation. Finally, the threat of Sebastian Moran, out there somewhere, seemed to hang over the two men closer than ever. When Felicity had gone to make them tea after their reunion, Sherlock had made it a point to mention that he was back in London to finish what he had been working on for the past three years and that he needed John's help to take down the sniper. John had agreed, obviously, but now that he and Sherlock were thrown into parenthood, the need to eliminate Sherlock's last threat seemed all the more urgent.

**OoOoOoO**

It took Felicity a while to realize that she was conscious. Strange sensations were catalogued and noted dutifully in her brain, even though they didn't make sense. A large, comfy bed. Two strong, short arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Comforting wool pressing against her cheek. The smell of tea. Above it all, the horrible, suffocating grief she'd managed to escape with sleep was hanging over her, urging her to roll back over and wallow in misery. The only thing her brilliant mind could compute solidly was that Charley was dead and she was alone. That thought in mind, Felicity curled in on herself, hiding her face from who she realized was John lying next to her. "Hey, it's ok," His voice was soft as a kiss was planted on her head, a hand stroked her hair.

"He promised me he'd come back," Felicity found herself choking out, wishing that she would simply tear herself apart and cease to exist. So far in her short life, everyone she had ever loved had died; first her parents, then Sherlock, and now Charley, the one person she had trusted and loved through it all. He was her other half and without him she was nothing. "He said it, said, 'I will come back' and he's not, not ever-" Hysteria raced up Felicity's throat, choking her, and John kept her close as she cried.

"Shh," he'd whisper every once and a while, mindlessly stroking her hair. It was all John could do for besides being physically next to her, and it made him feel angry to be so useless. Once Felicity had retreated back into her numbness, spent from crying, John figured it was time to act. The only reason Sherlock wasn't there was because someone had to continue to make funeral arrangements. The whole process was continuing to be difficult, especially now that it was quite obvious that 'boffin' Sherlock Holmes was still very much alive and very much a genius. Suddenly everyone and their mum wanted to know about Sherlock, John, and their recent adoption. John had also asked Sherlock to get some tea brewing- and that had been only minutes ago. The tea was originally planned for just John and Sherlock, but now that Felicity was awake, John wanted to get food and fluid into her. She'd looked positively gaunt at the adoption meeting and with the shock her body was going through Felicity needed fuel. "Felicity, let's get some tea into you," John half requested, half insisted, rubbing her back.

Felicity flinched but acquiesced, sitting up and crawling out of Sherlock's bed. Her hair was tame despite the lack of braids holding it down, and its lack of ferocity and rebelliousness stabbed at John's heart. He guided her out of the room and down the hallway, almost reaching the kitchen when he saw something odd out of the corner of his eye. As they passed the bathroom, he saw a dark splotch in the mirror, making him balk and squint, trying to identify it. He could see himself and then Felicity at his side. She was staring blankly ahead, but he could see on her profile that the dark splotch seemed to be staining her skin. "Jesus, no," he swore, turning Felicity towards the light and inspecting her face, rage exploding inside him as he took in the heavy bruise darkening her left eye.

"John?" Sherlock called, hearing the loud exclamation. Felicity snapped out of her grief, realizing that her cover was blown. She had cried more than enough to wash away the makeup hiding her secret and now her black eye was on full display. "John- what's the matter?" Sherlock's voice got closer as he got up, starting to wonder if something was wrong. Felicity grimaced, trying to turn her face away from John, but the doctor took her chin, his eyes traveling over the bruise with more anger than John had ever felt in his life.

"Felicity, what happened to you?" John demanded, flipping on the bathroom light for a better visual of her injury. In the stark light, the contrast between the dark bruise and Felicity's pale skin made John even more furious.

"John, what-?" Sherlock stopped behind him, looking over his shoulder and freezing on the spot as his eyes automatically traveled to the dark bruise. Sherlock's fists clenched automatically as his urge to kill rose exponentially. Whoever had done this, whoever harmed _his _Felicity was going to burn. The longer he looked, the more obvious it became that her black eye was not her only injury. The way Felicity carried herself was not completely due to grief, Sherlock realized with anger so bitter he thought he would choke on it. During her week at Ruth's she'd been the victim of a gang style beating and she hadn't told a soul- she'd _hidden _the truth from even Sherlock and John. Their combined stares made such shame and self-hatred rise up in Felicity that she covered her face, pulling out of John's grip.

John paused, taking a much needed moment to reign his anger in before bending his knees a bit to be more at Felicity's height. He stroked the side of her face, kissed her forehead before asking, quietly, "Can I take a look at it?" He understood that Felicity must have felt so weak, so helpless after being beaten up at school just after her brother's passing. Her wrongly felt shame made him angrier than ever, but he saved that anger for the sake of helping his newly adopted daughter. Felicity shuddered briefly before lowering her hands and giving John a brief nod. "Alright, then," John prompted, and they walked into the kitchen, Sherlock practically breathing down their necks. Felicity sat on one of the bar stools, managing to hold her head up. She looked beaten down, as if the slightest breeze would blow her away. Sherlock leaned on the cabinets across from her, struggling to keep his expression somewhat calm, even though he felt anything but. Sherlock knew instinctively that the beating was the work of Wellembry, the same girl who had tried to punch Felicity when he went to break her out of Ruth's. He made a mental note to look up her family and give them hell as John came back with a warm flannel and gently placed it over Felicity's eye. She tensed slowly and then relaxed as the heat soothed the bruise. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" John asked, switching over into his calm, professional nature.

"Just a few bruises here and there. Nothing serious." Felicity said flatly. John looked at her for a moment, clearly calculating and thinking about her answer before nodding, sitting next to her with a heavy sigh.

"This was Wellembry, wasn't it?" Sherlock asked, unable to keep venom out of his voice. John sent him a warning look, but Sherlock ignored it; he only had eyes for Felicity. She had flinched imperceptibly, her eyes automatically flashing to the ground to avoid Sherlock's gaze. That alone told Sherlock all he needed to know. He was ready to get up and go for his cell phone when Felicity spoke.

"She called Charley a prick," her voice was so soft that it was barely heard. When it registered, John twitched as if to get up and Sherlock jerked upright, hands clenching onto the counter. "She called him a prick and I didn't do anything," Felicity added, sounding half confused, half devastated as she pressed the flannel tighter to her eye. "I didn't fight back at all- I just _let _her-" Felicity hiccupped a sob, bending over herself as the agony of her grief returned. John knelt down in front of her taking her free hand and squeezing it gently.

"Felicity, it's alright. Everyone who matters in this world knows that Charley was a good man. This bully, Wellembry, she's weak. She doesn't matter; she's pathetic enough that she needs to feed on other's pain to make her feel better about herself." John urged, trying to desperately comfort Felicity with only words.

"She is worthless." Sherlock added, still blazing with fury. He guarded his heart viciously, and Felicity was his heart. Seeing her in pain, grieving, made him beside himself because he knew that for once he wasn't able to help. Felicity said nothing, and they sat like that for the longest time before John stood up.

"You need food." He insisted with a quiet firmness. Felicity swallowed quickly and sat up straight again, passing the now cooled flannel back to John. He heated the water in the kettle back up and started some toast as Sherlock came and sat beside Felicity, slightly unsure. John knew just what to do, it seemed, for those who were grieving. On the car ride back from the Yard, Sherlock had given in to instinct, rocking Felicity on his lap and holding her close. Now he felt as if that could have been a lifetime ago. The fact that he didn't know how to comfort his own personal sun frustrated Sherlock endlessly. Luckily, he didn't have to think too much on the subject because Felicity leaned over a bit and rested against Sherlock's side and his arm came up automatically to rest around her shoulders. He rubbed her arm briskly, planting a brief kiss onto the top of her head.

"You learned piano while you were away," Sherlock mentioned, using his free hand to gently pick up one of hers, examining her fingers with a practiced eye. It was all he could to distract her, and he was very happy to notice that it worked.

"I was bored, and I remembered how you would always play the violin when you felt the same way. The school only had a piano, not a violin, so I learned that instead." Felicity shared, giving him a flicker of a smile as her gaze traveled over him. Despite the grief in her eyes, Sherlock could see her mind starting to function again as she looked at him, deducing. "You had your ear pierced," she noted, sounding surprised as her hand came up to touch Sherlock's left earlobe. True to her word, there was a small bit of scar tissue that remained from where the hole had since closed.

"It was necessary to infiltrate one of Moriarty's many rings of crime." Sherlock explained; glad to see anything other than grief on Felicity's face as she examined his ear curiously.

"Hmm," Felicity sighed, dropping her thin fingers from his ear to curl up tighter against his side. Sherlock rubbed her arm as John came over with toast and tea.

"Try to eat, even a little." John asked quietly, sitting across from them. Felicity unwillingly snuck a hand out and took a piece of toast at John's request, nibbling on it half-heartedly. They ate in silence for a moment before a brilliant idea crossed Sherlock's mind.

"We should get a piano," he said thoughtfully, and Felicity looked at him in surprise.

"Where would we put it? Never mind getting it up here," Felicity asked, and the surprise in her voice was a welcome change from the grief. Sherlock smiled internally- his plan was working, even if the affects lasted for mere moments.

"Getting it up into the flat is of little importance, and we'd put it in your room, of course," Sherlock said breezily, taking a sip of tea, giving John an inconspicuous wink at the same time. John instantly understood what he was doing and nodded at Felicity when she turned to look at him for conformation.

"My room? But that's John's room," Felicity said, confused. Beneath that, however, her mind was whirling. It had been stagnant for so long, stuck on the idea that Charley was dead, but the gears were loosening- she was starting to solve different problems, think of different things, even though in the back of her brilliant mind, the heart-breaking fact that Charley was dead remained.

"Well, John was going to move into my room," Sherlock said nonchalantly. It took Felicity only seconds to shoot out of Sherlock's grip, looking at him incredulously.

"Are…are you and John in a relationship?" She asked softly, glancing between the two men in question. Both men hesitated, looking at each other for conformation. They hadn't spoken about this yet- Sherlock saying that John was moving in with him was more of a question to John than an actual fact.

"Well…Felicity, when you were here with us for the week all those years ago, Sherlock and I began to realize that we wanted something more than friendship. When you left, things got incredibly busy. Those feelings remained however, even during the three years that Sherlock was gone. Now that he has returned, we were hoping to explore the idea of us becoming something more." John explained slowly, looking to Sherlock for conformation, receiving a brilliant smile in return. That alone made John's heart leap into his throat, but Felicity's reaction made him almost even happier.

"Really? Truly?! You two- I don't believe it!" Felicity cried, her face lighting up with such happiness and hope that it twisted at John's heartstrings. The smile on her face revealed that the sunny demeanor Felicity naturally wore was not gone- just buried. Her expression cut away through her grief and even her cold shell and back down to her core. She slid out from underneath Sherlock's arm and darted around the table, hugging John tight. Over her head, John looked at Sherlock, his own smile reflected on Sherlock's face. When Felicity left, the courage the two of them had in discovering what they really wanted had faded. They were like shy school children- occasionally brushing hands, sending each other glances, but neither had the courage to truly identify what they felt. Now that Felicity was back, the memories and their drive to discover was back with full force. Their own personal sun had spread the light necessary to see what they really wanted.

"Hey," John said worriedly when he felt moisture on his shirt. He pulled back to look at Felicity, sad that she was crying again. He felt a pang of despair; would Felicity ever overcome her grief?

"No, I'm fine," She insisted weakly, managing a smile at John. "I'm happy. I'm happy," she repeated, glancing at Sherlock to drive her point home. "You give me hope," she added in a quieter tone, and John tisked, hugging her close again.

"Well, then. Go on, your tea is getting cold," John said, kissing her forehead and releasing her. Felicity's smile was more ghostly as she returned back to Sherlock, taking her seat next to him once more.

"So, the piano is settled then," Sherlock reminded himself, and Felicity laughed weakly. It was hoarse and rusty, as if she hadn't laughed in years, but it was a _laugh. _He could remember the giggles that would pour out of her and his heart longed to return that happiness. She paused for a moment, staring into her tea blankly before taking a deep breath, then another, preparing herself for something. For what, John and Sherlock had no idea. Finally, Felicity spoke.

"Tell me what's going on. I-I need to know the state of things." Her voice was unsure, tripping over itself, but her resilience was there. John and Sherlock shared a quick glance, calculating how much they could tell Felicity. In the end, both men knew that Felicity deserved to know the truth, no matter how hurtful it may be. They knew that she could handle it.

"Charley was cremated on base and his remains are being flown back privately to England. You'll receive his ashes, his dog-tags, and his closest possessions at the funeral. All of Charley's regiment will be in attendance." Sherlock said finally, voice soft. Felicity shuddered slightly, her hands gripping her tea mug until her knuckles turned white. She squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears streaking down her face and vanishing down the collar of her shirt. She struggled to conquer her emotion; she could still grieve for Charley, but she couldn't let it control her like it had been: the need to function began to supersede her need to grieve. It was a realization very few people could come to, especially not people her age. Felicity forced herself to inhale, the sound jagged as she forcefully choked back tears.

"And when is the funeral?" When she did speak again, her voice was perfectly steady, frightfully flat, but steady.

"Tuesday afternoon." John prompted this time, feeling slightly lost. Felicity was so complex that John was again beginning to wonder if he could ever properly provide for her. He was doing all he could at the moment, and Felicity was getting better, but he wanted to give her so much more.

"And what day is it?" Felicity asked, her voice more strained this time.

"It's late evening on Saturday." John said, glancing at the clock. He'd lost all track of time laying on his bed with Felicity and thinking about his possible relationship with Sherlock, his want to help Felicity, and the idea of Sebastian Moran still hanging above them all.

"Two days," Felicity said to herself almost miserably, taking a sip of her tea. "What am I going to do for two days?"

"No matter what you decide we will be here for you." Sherlock promised, but Felicity didn't move from where she was staring sadly into her tea, wrapping herself back up into her thoughts. Only when John started to clear away their dishes to do the washing up did Felicity stir.

"I should clean up," she said listlessly, slowly letting go of her now cold mug of tea and standing up. She silently passed the mug to John so that he could clean it with the rest of the dishes before padding out of the kitchen. As soon as the pipes groaned and water started running in the shower, Sherlock spoke.

"She's so unhappy John. What can I do? What can _we _do?" He asked agitatedly, letting his true worry shine once Felicity wasn't around to see it. As a Holmes, Sherlock had been taught to hide your true emotions since he could contemplate the concept (so, of course, from a very early age). It was second nature to him, making it even harder for him to offer Felicity good advice on _not _doing the same thing. Understanding how and why emotion played such a large role in Felicity's life was almost impossible for him.

"Nothing, Sherlock. I know that's frustrating, but Felicity might be a bit solitary for a while. We both know that she'll talk when she's ready." John sighed, stacking clean dishes up on the drain-board. There was a moment of silence as John finished the dishes and dried his hands, watching Sherlock from where the detective was watching him from across the kitchen. The longer they stared at each other, the more tension built in the air until gooseflesh was breaking out across John's skin and Sherlock had to do something as mundane as reminding himself to breathe evenly. Before his thoughts could catch up with his actions, Sherlock crossed the kitchen in three strides and stopped in front of John, standing close enough to feel the other man's gentle breath on his face. He wanted to step just a bit closer to press his body onto every inch of John he could reach, but Sherlock, having never felt this way about anyone in his life, didn't know how to take those next crucial steps. "Sherlock," John breathed, his eyes darting from Sherlock's gaze to his lips and then back up again.

Sherlock cleared his throat before managing, "I would very much like to kiss you, John, but due to my inexperience-!"

Before he could finish John grabbed his collar and pulled Sherlock down to a better angle before pressing his lips to his. For both men, the kiss was unlike anything they had ever experienced. For John, who had been with partners of both sexes, no kiss compared to this one, knowing that the man he was kissing was so brilliantly unique that no one else could come close to his beauty. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing, that was true, but even with that in mind the kiss was still incredible. For Sherlock, who had never been kissed before, the gentle pressure from John's lips completely silenced the ongoing buzz of deductions and thoughts in his head and sent a warm shock down to lower parts of his body. The detective's surprise at being kissed so suddenly gave John the perfect opportunity to completely ravish him without having to fight for dominance; he nipped at Sherlock's lower lip and ran his tongue along it in such an excruciatingly slow manner that Sherlock actually whimpered, his large, elegant hands drifting up to rest on John's shoulder and to clench into his hair. Sherlock pinned him to the cabinetry, his need suddenly very apparent as every inch of him pressed against the doctor. John took pity on him and slipped his tongue into Sherlock's mouth.

For someone with so little experience, Sherlock picked up the finer points of kissing very quickly until John was glad that he was pinned; his legs were slowly turning to jelly as they kissed feverishly, finally expressing all of their pent up frustrations and curiosities. After what seemed like an eternity, John broke away for air, trailing kisses down Sherlock's elegant neck instead, kissing his Adam's apple, his pulse point, each tendon as they stood out in relief from Sherlock's skin as the detective threw his head back unashamedly, lost in the sensation. Normally, he would be unable to help himself from noting every scientific sign that he was aroused; his more frantic breathing, his increased pulse, and, of course, his rapidly increasing erection, but Sherlock's mind was blissfully blank. Still exploring, John undid a few buttons of Sherlock's shirt to find his collarbones, nipping gently here and there until Sherlock was gasping, holding onto John's waist for support. As a doctor, John knew the scientific name for every inch of the human body; he could tell you the name of every muscle he was running his lips over, and he was using that information to his advantage. He knew where all of the most sensitive areas were and it wouldn't take him long to find Sherlock's most intense spots. Unable to resist, John bit down harder on the edge of Sherlock's collarbone, leaving a hickey that was sure to last for days before he finally pulled away.

It took Sherlock a moment to realize that John had stopped. He was so dazed from John's hidden talents that he had to reboot his mind so that he could think clearly again. When he did, and when his vision cleared, the look on John's face shot dull throbs down to Sherlock's erection. The doctor was watching him with eyes blown wide with lust, his eyes wandering over Sherlock's smooth skin, finally exposed for his viewing pleasure. John's own healthy erection was pressing urgently against Sherlock's, but the detective could tell that John had stopped for just that reason. Now was not the time to keep going- Felicity was just down the hall and would be finishing her shower soon. As the memories of his flatmate's talented lips began to fade, logic took its place; Sherlock's priorities (besides sex) came back, all clamoring for his attention. "Later?" he asked, hoping that John would accept the invitation to one day (whenever that day was) finish what they had started.

"Later," John promised, his voice so husky it nearly made Sherlock kiss him all over again. It took all of his self-restraint to take a step back from John, buttoning his shirt back up reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean that we can't display some affection- Felicity isn't stupid and she isn't that much of a child anymore. She can handle a peck here and there," John continued, flattening his hair with an edge of nervousness as his rash actions started to linger in his brain. The devilish grin Sherlock sent him in response to his idea clearly said that Sherlock was in agreement with him. He took a step closer to John again, but the water in the pipes shut off, signaling that Felicity was done with her shower and their time alone was finished. Holding back his longing, Sherlock leaned forward and planted a lingering kiss on John's temple before forcing himself to pull away. His impatience to fully explore John, to know every nook and cranny was almost overpowering, but his duty to protect Felicity when she was at her weakest remained- and that was one burden Sherlock was more than willing to bear.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: OK OK OK guys I had to update this as soon as I wrote it because holy FUCK I have no idea where this came from and I hope it's ok and not too creepy and romantic and...(one moment, hyperventilating) wonderful! I hope you enjoyed it, even though it's a bit short. My updates are getting shorter and I don't like that at all but if you guys are happy than I definitely am. So, YES! Do you remember way back in oh, I don't know, Chapter 5 maybe where I asked, "Does anyone mind johnlock?". I'm so freaking stupid and late on that promise but I gave it to you! I hope you like it! **

**ALSO- guess what! I asked one of my friends on Tumblr (her URL is charlyvonkarma if you are interested) to do a commission for me and she said YES! If you look at the image for this story, that's the art she made me! I'm ridiculously excited over it and I love it so so so SO SO much. :D You can find a bigger version under the links on my Profile if you like. A BIG THANK YOU TO CHARLYVONKARMA I LOVE IT SO MUCH! **

**Those of you who review make me super happy, so thank you so much to all of you. **

**Finally, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr is the best beta and online friend I've ever had and I can never thank her enough. **


	18. Chapter 18

Felicity took the free time and unexpected privacy the shower brought her to express herself without Sherlock and John seeing, where all sounds would be muffled by the endless pounding of the water. The hot spray on her bruised skin hurt at first, but once the nerves there were numb she stood blankly in the shower, staring at the opposite wall. She was starting to banish her grief as well as she could in order to soldier on; Felicity wanted to be strong for Charley, strong for Sherlock and John, and strong for herself. After being in control for so long it was terrifying to not have a good grasp on her emotions anymore. The rational part of Felicity knew that no one should ever have to exhibit that kind of control all the time, but the emotional part of her didn't care.

Once she'd figured that she'd cried enough and wasted enough hot water, she quickly bathed and then stepped out, wringing her long hair out as she did so. Darkened with water, her hair looked brown instead of its vibrant red as she got dressed, making sure to choose clothes that would cover her skin. She didn't want John and Sherlock to see the rest of the bruises- that shame was hers alone. Once dressed, Felicity stared at her face for a moment, trying to get herself to relax. Her ordeal at Ruth's was over, she was with people who loved her and she loved them, there was no need for her to be so cold anymore…and yet she couldn't stop herself from remaining closed off, especially with the idea of Charley's death fresh in her mind. She knew that she could trust Sherlock and John wholeheartedly (for god's sake they'd moved to ADOPT her without even thinking about it), but Felicity didn't trust herself enough to do so. As she stared at her face further, she frowned. Maybe she needed a change- cutting her hair, perhaps? She didn't recognize herself anymore and she wanted to. Badly. What would she have to do to go back to the way things were?

Once she was done contemplating how she'd managed to come this far, Felicity exited the bathroom, shivering a bit in the colder air. She could hear Sherlock on the phone in the kitchen and felt for a moment that she was home, listening to Charley in the next room over talking to himself or on the phone or swearing when he dropped something. She would have to get used to hearing new sounds of home in a new place with new people, but she knew that she'd manage. These things would just take time. "No, the baby grand piano, not the upright," Sherlock was saying impatiently into the phone, gesturing wildly as Felicity turned the corner. "Yes…of course…OBVIOUSLY…thank you." Sherlock sounded anything but thankful as he hung up, stuffing his Blackberry almost viciously into his pocket.

"Having problems?" Felicity asked, not meaning to sound nearly as sarcastic as she did, her voice making Sherlock turn, having not heard her enter the kitchen. "Oh," Felicity noted after taking one look at Sherlock, instantly noting the new wrinkles in his shirt, his slightly messed up hair…what he and John had been doing while she was in the shower was suddenly obvious. She and Sherlock started to flush at the same time; Felicity's cheekbones started to glow a delicate pink and Sherlock's ears turned red.

"Well, yes. All of the receptionists at Steinway & Sons are idiots." Sherlock said, coughing briefly into his fist, trying to quell his embarrassment.

"You're—a _Steinway?" _Felicity spluttered, shocked by Sherlock's generosity. She knew that he wasn't trying to buy her happiness, but he had just about managed it. Steinways were beautiful instruments, far better than the upright piano Felicity had taught herself on at school.

"Of course. You will have to size down to a twin bed, but the Steinway will fit in your room without difficulty." Sherlock stated factually, and then frowned at Felicity's darker, unbraided hair. "I'm not used to seeing your hair this way," he explained briefly, moving to come around the table for closer inspection, but Felicity turned and walked into the living room.

"I needed a change," she said shortly, sitting in John's armchair, ignoring how the man it belonged to looked up questioningly at her. Sherlock followed at a slower pace, recognizing Felicity's obvious signal for space, for her two guardians to leave her alone. The three of them had a quiet night, not used to being up so late but unable to fall asleep. The next morning, around nine o'clock, the piano arrived, causing Mrs. Hudson an awful lot of surprise when the men showed up at the door. It took a lot of maneuvering, but the pieces were brought in an assembled where they belonged. Once the men were gone, the flat went oddly quiet. John was making a cup of tea, still slightly red in the face from the process of getting the piano all together without yelling his head off at someone and Sherlock was trying to field Mrs. Hudson off the warpath on the stairs. Felicity was seated on the new piano bench, staring at the instrument as if she were unsure of what to do with it. Finally she placed her long fingers on the keys, experimentally hitting middle C, letting out a satisfied breath at the gorgeous tone that came from the piano. It was new, so the keys were a bit stiff, but the piano would be seeing a lot of use so that wouldn't be a problem for much longer. Throwing caution to the wind, Felicity ran a scale, then another, until music was pouring out of her fingers as fast as she could make them fly across the ivory and ebony, racing from end to end of the piano.

In the next room over, Sherlock and John listened silently to the music pouring out of Felicity's room. Sometimes it was incredibly sweet, sometimes bone-chillingly haunting. It ranged from sad to happy to angry in mere moments, the sounds and melodies folding over themselves over and over again. John had lived with Sherlock for a long time and had heard a lot of what his lover could play, all of it beautiful, but none of it compared to this. Neither man went in to bother Felicity, to ask her about her music, what she wanted to talk about (if she wanted to talk about it), nothing. They let her vent until she was finished, the notes dying away into the silence of the flat in an awful, unfinished resolution.

A few minutes later, Felicity emerged, looking tired. Without a word she crawled up next to John on the couch, burrowing her face into his jumper with a sigh. Neither man batted an eyelid; Sherlock went back to his experiment and John simply draped an arm over her shoulders, offering silent, unyielding support. "Do you want to talk about it?" John asked finally, and Felicity turned her head so that one eye could look at John, the blackened one. She seemed to hesitate before pushing herself up to sit upright, hugging her knees.

"I'm not sure if there is anything to say," she said finally, sounding slightly confused as she tried to form the words she wanted to say. "I-he's just _gone _and I have to come to terms with that. It sounds stupid, of course he's gone, he's dead, but I still feel like any second now he'll walk through the door and ask why I'm not at Ruth's." The words slowly tripped out of Felicity, as if she wasn't quite sure what to say. Sherlock put down his beakers, sliding off his goggles so that he could see her better.

"Well, that's not a bad thing, Felicity. It may be a little disconcerting, but it's not wrong." John said, and Felicity frowned.

"But—it's not _logical! _My brain knows that Charley is dead, so what am I waiting for? Why do I feel like this?" Felicity asked, half to herself as she wrung a strand of her hair between her fingers, as if doing so would give her the answer.

"Felicity, you need to feel whatever it is you feel and not hold back. That only makes it hurt more, trust me." John said, shooting a loaded glance at Sherlock, making him nearly drop a flask to the floor. He caught it just in time and Felicity actually _giggled. _It wasn't up to par with her usual standard, but it wasn't the hoarse laughter she'd displayed earlier, either. It was beautiful to Sherlock and John.

"I forgot that you know all about that," She said, leaning over the back of the couch to stare at Sherlock, her eyes back to their usual inquisitive brightness as she studied him. "So, you two love each other." She threw out there, and the two men glanced at each other, their eyes getting more appraising by the second.

"Yes, we do." Sherlock responded only when he knew his tone would be level. The look on John's face had him very close to going over there and kissing him senseless. Felicity looked back to John for a slightly embarrassed nod in conformation.

"When did you realize it?" Felicity asked, directing her stare to the floor this time to avoid getting caught in the cross fire of John and Sherlock's sexually charged glances. Bringing up their relationship made Felicity happy- two people that she loved actually loved each other as well; there was something beautiful in that.

"It started to be more pronounced during _The Blind Banker_ if I remember correctly, but I always felt that way, even though I didn't recognize it." John admitted, glancing at Sherlock to see his reaction. The happiness sparkling in the detective's eyes made it very clear that Sherlock approved.

"I believe that John has summed up my own emotions and thoughts on the subject perfectly." Sherlock spoke to Felicity but his gaze rested on John the whole time. Felicity, who had never seen much affection between couples before (considering she lived alone with her over-worked brother), was not at all bothered when Sherlock got up and kissed John once on the forehead, then on the temple, and then a quick peck on the lips. It was just human contact to her- and the two men made it look so natural that she automatically filed it away under 'Love and Relationships' as to how two people were supposed to act when they were in love.

"And tell me more about your case after that one, and all the cases I missed while I was at school," Felicity requested, and Sherlock , who had been walking towards the kitchen, paused. Whenever someone asked him about cases, his mind always flashed to the seconds where he was looking at John, asking permission to blow up the bomb vest and possibly kill them during _The Great Game_. In that moment he would have had a spark of happiness knowing that John, the one person he'd ever loved, was going to be with him until their rapidly approaching end. That one moment had made it very clear to Sherlock that John was precious and that he could never leave him. It also tried to bolster his courage to make a move, but to no avail. Finally, thinking about Moriarty made Sherlock think about Moran, the dangerous colonel that was still out there…somewhere.

"Why don't we talk about it tomorrow, hmm? It's getting late and I want you on a proper sleeping schedule again. Besides, it'll probably take a whole day to tell you everything." John suggested, and Felicity looked between them curiously, sliding off the couch to stand up. She could tell that she was missing something important- that was the only reason why Sherlock and John would hesitate in telling her what she wanted to know.

"Is this about Moriarty? Because if so, you shouldn't—_oh." _Felicity stopped herself as the idea of Moran snapped into her mind. Sherlock had mentioned him very briefly at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies, and since then she hadn't had time to dwell on what he'd done during his three years away. "I understand," she said quickly, seeing that Sherlock had turned around and was staring at her. Sherlock was still worried about Moran, and with good reason. He wanted her to know everything, but that idea was still hanging over his head. "This has to do with Moran." She lay it out there, and Sherlock gave her one nod of assent. For a moment, they stared at each other as Felicity tried to quell her curiosity. Sherlock would tell her about Moran when they had time. She shuddered to think that the man was still out there somewhere, possibly ready to kill Sherlock at a moment's notice. It was also painfully obvious that if it wasn't for Charley's death, Sherlock and John would be out trying to kill Moran at this very moment. The fact that they weren't and were giving him time to plan made her nervous, but also made her feel incredibly grateful that John and Sherlock cared enough to stay with her through her grieving. "Alright. Tomorrow, then. Goodnight," Felicity agreed quietly, before turning and going down the hallway, up the stairs, and to her room, shutting the door almost silently behind her. Her old goodnight routine, back when she and Charley still lived in Sussex, included goodnight kisses, something that Felicity could never have again. While she was relieved that John and Sherlock were filling some of the holes that Charley's death had punched in her, that one, special ritual was not something she was willing to give up just yet, not while the memories were still so fresh.

Neither man came in to bother her with wishes of goodnight, wishing to give her space. As Felicity curled up in her new bed in her new room by herself, she thought that the isolation was a good thing. She thought that it would help her shed her cold shell so that she could go back to the way things were. However, halfway through the night she was still awake, still curled into a ball and staring at the opposite wall, her grief heavy in her heart. The idea of formally saying goodbye to Charley at his funeral scared her and frustrated her because her emotions had become irrational. The idea of Moran hurting people she loved scared her too, especially because there was nothing she could do. Above all, she was still wary of letting go of her control and just being herself. Deciding to seek comfort, Felicity slipped out of bed and padded downstairs.

To her surprise, Sherlock was still awake and not with John, like she thought he would. He was sitting pensively on the couch, fingers pressed together as if in prayer. Felicity came over and sat next to him, cross-legged, in her usual mind-skyscraper pose. She didn't enter it, despite her posture. Sherlock glanced at her briefly, his plans on taking down Moran drifting back into their proper files as he focused on his daughter instead of his last enemy. Felicity's realization today made him feel more pressed than ever to eliminate the very last of Moriarty's network. If he left Moran alone, it would be like stopping an antibiotic regimen; the strongest would survive and grow again, being even harder to destroy than ever. Sherlock looked at Felicity, noted the tension in her back, her shoulders, and the faint lines by her eyes as she wrestled with her problems. "How do you do it, Sherlock?" Felicity managed to ask a few minutes later, having sensed Sherlock's intelligent eyes on her face. "How do you not let emotion bother you yet feel it at the same time? It's not right but it always is- it's a paradox!" Felicity was upset, but her voice wasn't anything louder than a whisper as she stared at Sherlock, as if looking at him would give her all the answers she desperately wanted.

"It took me a long time, Felicity." Sherlock shared, turning to face her. "You've lived happily, let emotion run through you, and now that you've been repressed it hurts. As a child, I never let that happen, to the detriment of my morals because of it. It wasn't until Lestrade and John came into my life that I let myself feel again. I understand that it is frightening; the feeling of losing control is hard to process when you've been under so much pressure for so long. What you need to understand, Felicity, is that you have no reason to be scared of letting go. There is no one here and I will never let anyone near you who will judge you for being yourself." Sherlock promised in a low, intense voice. Felicity stared at him for the longest time, her black eye a stark contrast to her pale face. Only when she'd searched Sherlock's expression did she nod, cracking a weak smile. "You will heal," Sherlock murmured, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders and kissing her hair. Felicity settled into his side, closing her eyes. Sherlock's words carried weight, and she'd reflect on them later. For now, all she wanted to do was take comfort from being close to him.

"I'm sorry for being short with you earlier." She apologized softly, and Sherlock made a dismissive noise. The words 'I love you' almost slipped out, but Felicity caught them at the last second, feeling a stab of pain for Charley. Her mind chastised her for thinking that loving someone she'd always loved was traitorous to her love for Charley, but her heart hurt nonetheless. Instead, she let Sherlock lead her to his room and crawl in with him and John for the rest of the night rather than spend the night alone.

**OoOoOoO**

The next day, Sherlock and John sat Felicity down and talked her through the events at the pool, and then their two biggest cases that had followed, _A Scandal in Belgravia _and _The Hounds of Baskerville__. _Once they'd sorted through Moriarty's thefts and then his successful plan to smear Sherlock's name and force him to jump to his death, Felicity finally understood the depth of Moriarty's dangerous nature and just how important it was for him to take down Sebastian Moran. There was an awkward discrepancy as to _when _Sherlock and John were going to do this (they told her to focus on the funeral, and that shut her down much more than Sherlock and John had meant to), but at least Felicity understood.

While they were having their deep, slightly painful conversations, Sherlock and John mentioned briefly that with Sherlock's return, the media had once again taken interest in him, John, and now Felicity as well. Their attention would remain as a hindrance for a long time, but once the three of them settled into their newer, calmer life the media would eventually lose interest. The idea of the media being fascinated with their family struck Felicity as odd; to her, they were just a normal family, with two parents and a child. How anyone could see them as different or strange was beyond her. With all of the thoughts in her head from the cases she'd missed, Moriarty and Moran, and now the media, the pressing date of the funeral coming the next day made Felicity very withdrawn. The weight of the funeral weighed heavy on her heart, and there was nothing Sherlock and John could do to help. They stayed in the flat all day, bumming on the couch cuddling with each other.

**OoOoOoO**

On the morning of the funeral, everyone at 221B got up early, but Felicity was awake before anyone else. Also, to the worry of Sherlock and John, she was very quiet. She barely ate breakfast, got ready without a word, and accepted their words about media outside their house with little more than a nod. She had braided her hair into the French braid that Charley always loved to tug on, and she had purposefully covered her black eye with makeup (the idea of honoring Charley with that mark on her face made Felicity boil inside). She wore the usual black clothes of someone in mourning, along with a single red poppy to honor her brother's military service. When Mycroft and his guards arrived to transport them safely to the funeral, Felicity was standing silently by Mrs. Hudson's side, allowing the older woman to hold her thin hand. Felicity's fiery hair against her pale face against her black clothes stood out even in the darkened entryway, and it made Mycroft want to stop and pause. The way she reminded him of Sherlock gave Mycroft, the strongest, coldest man in England, the shivers.

With a guard on either side of their group, Mrs. Hudson, John, Felicity and Sherlock were ushered through a crowd of reporters and into one of Mycroft's sleek, black cars. Felicity was silent for the ride there, for the general service, for the military salute, while she was receiving Charley's last possessions, all of it. It was only when the time came for the eulogy did she speak. Her steps were measured and calm and she held her head high as she stood in front of the podium, looking at the extremely small crowd that consisted of John, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs. Unden, and the ten living members of Charley's regiment. Despite the humble nature of the service, Felicity spoke as if she were a queen addressing a crowd.

"Charley was more than my brother. For the longest time, he was my entire life, my entire world. We were all that each other needed, and we were happy. He supported me and I supported him; the two of us understood each other like no one else. When he was deployed and I was sent to school, he was still my whole world, even though we were far apart. Now that he's gone, I've realized that he was more than just my world- he was my entire universe as well. He has and will continue to mean more to me than anything else. Charley raised me, loved me, and gave up everything just to do so. I owe him more than I can give, and now that he is dead I can't give him anything at all. Although he can no longer hear what I have to say, I still find the need to let him know that I love him with all my heart."

After her speech, she quietly thanked everyone in the regiment for coming, hugged each soldier, and accepted the small urn of Charley's ashes, Sherlock and John standing by, silently overwhelmed by the power of Felicity's words. She had somehow taken every last emotion that she'd been feeling since Charley's death and had wrangled them into deep, meaningful language that she then delivered to an audience of Charley's peers. For a girl her age and with what all she'd been through, it was just another reminder of how impressive of feats Felicity could pull off.

It was only in the car on the ride home, the urn tucked safely in her arms that Felicity cried. She had opened the top of the bag that held Charley's last possessions and had pulled out the deceased man's dog tags, slipping them around her neck with trembling fingers. Only when the tags were safely around her neck did tears streak down her cheeks. "He's gone," she said softly when John put an arm around her. She ran her thumb over the stamped lettering of the dog-tags, imagining how they used to hang from her brother's neck, resting right by his heart.

"Not completely. You'll always remember and love him, and that's what matters," Mrs. Hudson said on Felicity's other side. Her words suddenly made a lump grow in John's throat. Charley had been a good man, a good soldier, and his death hit close to home for John. He'd seen thousands of soldiers die, many of them under his hands, despite his best efforts. It was far too easy for him to picture Charley Muller dying in the sands of Kuwait. Sherlock seemed to sense that and cast his worried look from Felicity to him, silently asking if he was alright. John gave him a gentle nod, wishing suddenly that he could hold Sherlock's hand, squeeze it tight, run his fingers over the detective's bony knuckles and then kiss each one.

"I'll be in touch. I'm sorry for your loss, Felicity," Mycroft wished her as they pulled back up to 221B, guards getting out first to bat away reporters and open the door to the car.

"Thank you," Felicity said quietly, letting Mrs. Hudson take her hand and lead her out, Sherlock and John following. Compared to the raucous yelling of the media, the silence of 221B was incredibly nice, so peaceful that for a moment they all just stood there, Sherlock holding onto the bag of Charley Muller's last possessions. "Can I spend the night with you, Mrs. Hudson?" Felicity asked suddenly, voice strained as it obviously hid tears. "I just-," Felicity struggled to put her want into words. The memories she had of her family were scattered, lying mostly with Charley, but she did have a few of her mother, and Mrs. Hudson's hand around hers was the closest anyone had ever come to reminding Felicity of what she had. Considering she had just lost the last of her true family, the idea of being closer to something she couldn't have anymore was as comforting as it was addicting.

"It's ok, dear. You can spend the night whenever you want. Should we go get some of your things?" Mrs. Hudson interrupted her gently, looking up to Sherlock and John for their input.

"No, you go on; I'll get everything you need. Felicity, do you want us to take Charley's urn upstairs for safekeeping along with his possessions?" Sherlock asked, compassion behind his business-like tone. Felicity's arms tightened around the small urn for a moment before her shoulders crumpled and she held it out to Sherlock. The detective received it with the upmost care, kissing Felicity's forehead briefly. "I'll be back with her things," Sherlock promised, and Mrs. Hudson nodded, guiding Felicity over to 221A and ushering her inside.

Felicity stuck to Mrs. Hudson like glue, listening attentively to Mrs. Hudson's stories about her siblings, all of them deceased, her ex-husband, and what life had been like for her in Florida. Her talks about growing up in the countryside of Wales gave Felicity something else to think about besides what was obviously missing, and if Sherlock and John were balm on a wound, Mrs. Hudson was the bandage, her motherly nature sealing in and locking in place all of Sherlock and John's efforts to make Felicity feel better.

**OoOoOoO**

Sherlock came back from dropping off Felicity's things to find John standing in the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands, staring at the small urn sitting on their kitchen table. It hadn't taken much for the detective to notice that Charley's death had hit John with unexpected force, and Sherlock, who was still in his protective mode from worrying about Felicity, wanted to make it better for him. "Are you alright?" he asked, his low voice permeating through the kitchen as he walked closer, relishing the fact that he could stand closer to John, touch John. Sherlock wrapped a long arm around John's shoulders and kissed his temple softly.

"He was a good man," John started, still staring at the urn. "And I've watched a lot of good men die- I can picture what it was like for him. I can picture how he died." John finally tore his eyes off of the ashes to look into the depths of Sherlock's silver eyes. The reassurance and general love that John saw there made him unconsciously relax.

"Come on," Sherlock offered, tilting his head towards their bedroom. John swigged down the rest of his tea and walked with Sherlock to their room, bliss spreading through him as Sherlock rubbed his arm, the detective's long fingers relaxing the muscles. He shut the door almost all the way, but left a sizeable crack. "If Mrs. Hudson or Felicity need us, I want to be able to hear them at the door," Sherlock explained, seeing John's puzzled look.

"I hope she's doing alright," John sighed at Sherlock mentioning Felicity. The doctor fumbled with the buttons on his dress shirt, not used to wearing such nice garments. He longed for his jumpers and sighed gratefully when Sherlock's nimble fingers pushed his away and efficiently undid the buttons. When Sherlock reached the bottom, he put his hands on John's hips and kissed him softly. Neither man was in nowhere near the right mood for anything remotely sexual, not after the long, emotional day they'd just gone through, but the feeling of Sherlock touching him was nice. In John's opinion, cuddles were in order. "I have an idea," he announced as he shucked off his shirt and threw on his pajamas, Sherlock following suit.

"Oh?" Sherlock questioned, raising an eyebrow with a hint of a smile. He was glad to see that John's brief moment of sadness had passed.

"C'mere," John said, tugging Sherlock by the arm into bed. John sprawled Sherlock out accordingly, leaving a kiss here or there before snuggling up beside the detective with a happy sigh. Sherlock's arm rested on the doctor's waist, his fingertips massaging light circles into his hip. "Sherlock?" John asked, and the man in question hummed slightly in response, the reverberations from the deep sound passing into John's side. "You cared, at the funeral. You let it show, and that's the first time I've ever seen you do that. Why?" John worked to form his question without sounding mean. Sherlock was silent as he contemplated the question.

"I was always taught that caring was never an advantage, and it's not," he began, using his free hand to hold John's, intertwining the fingers together. "It's not an advantage when I'm working on cases, which, until now, has been my entire life. Caring, however, is no means a detriment to my happiness; I care for you and for Felicity and so I will express that in any means possible." Sherlock murmured, and John looked at him. He looked utterly peaceful, his face smooth and his eyes closed. A sudden rush of emotion nearly broke John's heart as he realized that he would get to see Sherlock like this _all the time. _Sherlock was _his, _and John would get to spend the rest of his life with him. That overwhelming bliss made John reach out and kiss Sherlock's cheekbone, his ear, his hairline, cataloging details, the flow of his beloved's skin. Sherlock steadied John around the waist as he rolled them over, putting himself over the doctor.

Then, their lips met in a slow, passionate, loving kiss that burned as much as it soothed. It was gentle, deep, and meaningful, with the shadowed promise of something much, _much _more that would be revealed not then, and not in the span of a few days, but in the months and years they had to come. "I love you," John gasped as they broke away, staring at each other, nose to nose. Sherlock smiled a wonderful, beautiful smile before he kissed the tip of John's nose.

"I love you, John." He murmured, kissing John's jaw before resuming their kiss. The two of them spent the rest of the night alternating before snuggling and sweet kisses before they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, their passion, for the moment, satiated.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Sorry for sadness and for lateness! I've been super busy lately (who thought it was a good idea to schedule 3 midterms for the same day? The NERVE of some people) and so writing time has been...significantly decreased. Also, I may have fallen out of my lofted bed and earned myself a concussion for my troubles. This is hypothetically speaking, of course. Your author is much more graceful than that, right? Well, hypothetically speaking, it's hard to concentrate when your head is throbbing out of your ears, so that's hypothetically why this chapter is late. Also, midterms. I give you Johnlock, but what will I take in return? It'll be good, so keep an eye out for trouble... :D**

**Reviews are my reminder that I need to stop being a little bitch, so do please kick my ass in gear. **

**If you didn't notice last time, I/we have fanart! Isn't it beautiful?! :DD**

**Also, billions of buckets of love to louisuperwholocked on Tumblr, my beta. You are a witty, incredible person and I love you. **


	19. Chapter 19

Over the next few days, Felicity was very solitary. She would read by herself, play the piano until she was cracking her knuckles in pain every night with increasing volume, or sometimes she would just sit in her room, running a thumb over Charley's dog-tags. She hadn't removed them since the funeral, and didn't plan on it. As her last tie to Charley, they were a blessing and a curse; wearing them kept her grounded to her past when she felt like moving on, but they were also a reminder of where she'd come from when all she wanted was to go back. Their value was incalculable, and Felicity was fiercely stubborn to never be parted from them, not even for a moment. Her two guardians, thankfully, continued to support her or give Felicity space, depending on what she needed. Days stretched to weeks and she eventually opened up more, talking with Sherlock and John, watching telly with John, looking through the morning papers with Sherlock and taking bets on who was right about what new case; just small activities that started to ground Felicity in normalcy. With time, it became obvious that she really _was _going to heal and everything was going to be ok; the dark, overpowering depression that had fallen over her with Charley's death began to break up and dissipate. However, the dog-tags stayed on, even when she was in the shower. On bad days Felicity would wear them outside of her shirt, but most days they were hidden under the collars of her blouses, tucked out of sight.

As time wore on, it took many hours of study in Felicity's mind-skyscraper to come to two grim conclusions. The first was that she wanted to tell Sherlock and John she loved them, wanted to be her light-hearted self again, wanted to give them nicknames (in John's case she sometimes called him TJ in her head, 'TJ' being short for 'Tea and Jam'). John had earned such a nickname for obvious reasons and Felicity wanted to be that affectionate with her new guardians- she wanted to think of them as parents, not as the men who had adopted her. She loved them that much and wanted to express that love without feeling guilty about Charley. Rationally, she knew that she couldn't let his death affect her so strongly for the rest of her life, but her heart still ruled her head. Her second conclusion was that because Sherlock and John were so attached to her, they were not acting how they usually would be; her case and point resting on the continued threat of Sebastian Moran. When they neared the month and a half mark after Charley's funeral, Felicity was sure that the two men would sit her down and tell her that she'd be staying with Mycroft or Mrs. Hudson for a while so they could go out and bring the colonel down. What bothered her was that they hadn't, and weren't showing any signs of doing so. She didn't see Sherlock in his mind-palace thinking about it anymore, and John certainly wasn't mentioning it.

Felicity didn't want to look any weaker to them than she already did, and didn't appreciate being seen that way when she'd obviously made leaps and bounds to come as far as she had in recovering from Charley's death and her time at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies. It was obvious that Sherlock and John were neglecting to act because they were worried about her, and while the concern was appreciated, Felicity found that it caused her more anxiety than comfort. Her worry about Moran hurting Sherlock or John made her impatient that neither man was trying to stop the colonel yet. The longer they waited, the greater the chances were that they would get hurt.

In truth, Sherlock was itching to take Moran down. He had sacrificed a lot to destroy 99.9% of Moriarty's crime network, and unfinished work left him anxious. He had so much more to protect than he did before, something that Moran wouldn't miss. However, the things he had to protect were keeping him from getting the job done. For one thing, he loved waking up in the morning, wrapped in John's arms. He liked the quick showers they took together. Sherlock loved watching him cook breakfast and hug Felicity and swear to himself as he tried to update his blog with a professional statement about his new relationship with Sherlock and their new daughter. He loved how John would check on the surveillance teams around 221B before he went to bed each night. He loved _John. _

He also loved his daughter. He hadn't referred to Felicity as such outside of his mind-palace, but Sherlock had started calling her that the moment he found out about Charley's death. He saw himself in Felicity, but he also saw so much life and promise. She had thoroughly snagged him from the moment they met and his love, admiration and protectiveness for Felicity had only grown since then. He loved listening to her playing the piano, loved _watching _her play the piano. He liked to observe her running experiments on the kitchen table, brows furrowed in concentration. Watching her read was a whole new experience- her eyes flicked down each page, quickly if she was interested and slowly , often times skimming the text, if she was bored. With so much at stake, the idea of throwing it all in jeopardy to hunt Moran made Sherlock just as uneasy as doing nothing. He thought about asking Mycroft to do it, thought about the consequences of leaving his family again to hunt Moran on his own, and considered what it would be like to have to leave Felicity behind and take John with him. The ideas made his usually very logical head spin until, for the first time, Sherlock Holmes didn't know what to do.

John, for the record, had thought a lot about what taking down Moran would mean to his family. He had talked with Mycroft to gather some supplies, just in case they needed to move quickly, but was content with staying in the flat with his detective and their daughter. John Watson had always been a family man, and now that he had a family the idea of chasing Sherlock through the streets of London, not to mention hunting down Sebastian Moran, seemed like a lifetime ago. John had felt as if the three of them had changed for the better, and he didn't want to upset their balance. Despite his personal opinion, John was not an idiot; he knew that they couldn't ignore the threat of the colonel to make it go away. They would have to act one day and that day was probably fast approaching. He could tell, however, that Sherlock was undecided on the issue so he wasn't going to press him on it. Besides, the idea of Moran seemed to bother Felicity, and John wanted to take as much stress away from Felicity as possible. For being such a pensive man when it came to his lover, John, unfortunately, was not correct in his assumptions about Felicity. His protective love for her overshadowed the fact that Felicity was not as naïve as he sometimes wished that a child her age should be, and that difference in maturity was driving Felicity out of her mind.

One night, Felicity couldn't take it anymore. She'd been in her mind-skyscraper most of the day with the excuse that she was reorganizing things and deleting old, useless facts. In reality, she was going over information she'd secretly researched on John's laptop (she may have hacked a few governmental websites to obtain it, hence the word 'secretly'), going over every fact she knew about Colonel Sebastian Moran. She'd learned everything she could so that when she did finally push Sherlock and John to go after him, she wouldn't be caught off guard with new facts. Felicity wanted ammunition to help end the threat of Moran once and for all. Figuring she'd reviewed enough, Felicity pulled herself out of her mind for the first time in hours and stood up, sounds once again registering in her brain. Sherlock was playing the violin and John was frowning at his blog (he'd been getting a lot of attention and inappropriate questions on his forums and it took a lot of work to manage and delete things that needed to be erased). "Enough is enough." She said, whipping out her icy cold voice from school at just enough volume to show that she meant business. John's fingers smooshed on his keyboard, turning the sentence he'd been writing into a jumbled mess and Sherlock's music cut off sharply as both men looked at her incredulously. Felicity had never raised her voice at them, not ever.

"What's the matter?" John asked, closing his laptop hastily, looking at Felicity with a worried eye. He'd watched her stay almost comatose in her mind for most of the day and it had made him anxious. She got so unnaturally still that it gave him the shivers, and his mind was quick to blame her time in her mind-skyscraper as the cause to her mood swing.

"You two are!" she cried, frustrated. "It's been almost two months now since Charley's funeral and you're just _sitting _here! Did you forget about Moran, the world outside, your _lives?" _

"Felicity, there is a reason John and I are waiting. Now is not an ideal time, with the high media interest and-" Sherlock started, but she cut him off.

"Don't. Lie. To. Me. I've been watching both of you, keeping track of the news; I've even been sending letters to _Mycroft _to ask if things are unsafe right now and I know for a fact that there is nothing hindering you and John from going out after Moran to end this once and for all." Felicity retorted, and Sherlock frowned at her at the mention of Mycroft. While he was grateful for his brother's uncanny ability to protect people, he most often times disliked his nosy, backstabbing personality. The idea of Felicity conspiring with him made Sherlock unhappy.

"I gave up a lot to destroy most of Moriarty's network and I don't want to give that up again to bring Moran in," Sherlock told her, and Felicity advanced on him, trying her hardest to hide how upset she was so that she could argue clearly.

"It's you or him, Sherlock. You know that. Do you really think that we're safe here, in 221B? Do you think we'll be safe here forever? Do you think you could handle giving up your cases and John giving up his work just to hide away like a coward for the rest of your life?" She asked him in a low, sharp voice.

"Felicity, we don't want to leave you!" John protested as Sherlock blinked openly at Felicity, surprised at how quickly her words cut to the bone. She'd identified everything he'd been agonizing over for the past two weeks with such frightening accuracy that he was stunned. Felicity whirled around to stare at John, eyes burning.

"You will if you sit here ignorantly, letting Moran get closer and closer. If you don't take even preventative measures against him he will kill you both and then you _will _be gone with no chance of coming back." Felicity's voice cracked on the word 'will' as her control broke. "I love you, both of you, and I can't lose you. I can't." Felicity insisted, voice strained. She'd realized almost as soon as after John finished speaking that she'd been bottling herself up again, the action buried deep in her subconscious. Felicity knew that she had to let everything in out in order to become like her old self again, and she had done just that by finally letting the words slip past her lips, finally throwing her biggest fears into the spotlight for inspection and judgment. She finally told Sherlock and John that she loved them.

"Felicity," John murmured comfortingly, getting up and enfolding her in his arms, meeting Sherlock's eyes once Felicity's face was hidden in his jumper. The detective was staring at Felicity and John, a slightly happy, slightly sad, slightly dumbstruck look on his face. Felicity's first declaration of love had not gone unnoticed, and now that Sherlock and John understood the price it cost her to say such a thing, the value of her words instantly skyrocketed. The gaze between and Sherlock and John grew more serious after just moments as both men accepted Felicity's words, knowing that she was absolutely right. They needed to plan and execute the takedown of Moran as quickly as possible. "It means the world to us, Felicity, that you said that. We love you so very much," John told her, rubbing her back.

"I know," Felicity's voice was muffled by the wool of John's jumper, but she wasn't letting go anytime soon. "And I love both of you, love you for who you really are. I love when you're on cases and working and _living. _These past few weeks you really haven't been and you won't until you get rid of Moran." She continued, gripping John tighter. Sherlock and John shared another brief glance. Felicity's age often made her seem so innocent- and she used to be a lot more innocent. Her outburst had reminded them that Felicity was not so naïve as she looked; she carried a lot of weight on her shoulders. Treating her like she was still a child only added more to her load.

"Let's sit and talk about this," Sherlock suggested when he found his voice again, setting his violin down and sitting on the far end of the couch. Felicity sat next to him, and then John on her other side. She instantly took a hand from each man and held them tightly, convincing herself to take a few deep breaths. Instead of leaving Felicity out of the planning process, Sherlock talked her and John through the options he and John had to taking down Moran. He wanted her to see everything on the table so that when they finally chose a plan of action, she would be comfortable with it. "Capturing Moran will not be easy. We could be gone for months." Sherlock warned Felicity, the idea of being parted from her for that long making a brief flame of panic burn in his chest.

"I understand." Felicity said after a moment, her voice strong and sure. "The sooner it's started the sooner it's done. If this is the only way to get peace then so be it." She added, tightening her grip on their hands. With that green light to go ahead, Sherlock started laying out everything he and John would have to do to capture Moran. It was a long, difficult process. Moran had moved since Sherlock's return and had started building an empire again, this time, in Germany, according to sources from MI6.

Before long, a plan was in place. Sherlock and John would take the remainder of the week to secure safe channels, get some supplies, and make sure that Felicity was safe and settled in Mycroft's care (Felicity was fine with staying with the elder Holmes, but Sherlock was always wary, cuing and argument). After that, Sherlock and John were going to travel to the place Moran was last seen. From there, they would track him down, using help from Mycroft to keep them safe (Felicity insisted on this, and Sherlock hated it, of course, but when John brought up that doing so would keep them in contact with Felicity, everyone agreed it was for the best). Once Moran was arrested or, if it came to it, killed, Sherlock and John would return to London and all would be right again. When they were settled down after their mission to finish destroying Moriarty's network, Sherlock and John agreed to start taking cases again and Felicity agreed to '_try' _to keep studying at a University instead of racing around after her guardians all the time- it wasn't safe for her or for them. There was talk of Felicity meeting John's family and Sherlock's ("Mummy would _love _you!"). As their talk branched more into what the future would be like after Moran instead of talking about the colonel himself, the mood lightened considerably, to a point where they were bantering with each other again. Then, Felicity asked a bomb of a question.

"Will you two get married?" She asked curiously after a brief period of silence. John flushed a brilliant red and Sherlock looked at Felicity in surprise. Both men had sudden mental pictures flash in their heads of the other on their wedding day. Sherlock was quite pleased with what his subconscious thought up: John in a tuxedo, looking trim instead of softer in his usual jumpers. John, on the other hand, had somehow pictured Sherlock in a wedding dress, cue why he was flushing furiously, half in embarrassment and half in an effort not to laugh.

"What makes you ask?" Sherlock deflected the question, glancing at John briefly. The detective had thought about marrying John, thought about it a lot more than he was willing to admit. He had grown up in a very traditional family and wanted to claim John, really claim him. He wasn't even worried about it 'interfering' with his case work anymore- his work wasn't the only thing in his life now. He had to give his attention to what was the most important- and that was his family. The idea of losing his cases used to terrify Sherlock, but the idea of losing John and Felicity was much, much worse. He wouldn't mind retiring right then and there to spend the rest of his life with them, but Felicity insisted that she wanted him and John to go back to work, back to how things had been during _The Blind Banker _case all those years ago.

The plan was started the very next day. Mycroft was contacted and a surveillance team was sent out in advance of Sherlock and John to search for any trace of Moran in Germany. It was set that Felicity would be getting to meet the mysterious Mummy sooner than anyone else thought; Mycroft would take her to stay at the famous Holmes estate, where she would be more than safe. They had less than two days to spend with each other before Sherlock and John were going to leave, and they planned on spending it wisely. For once, Sherlock relinquished much more control to Mycroft to get the detective and the doctor ready for their 'trip', allowing the two men to spend as much time as possible with Felicity before they had to leave.

Despite the extra time they had with Felicity, it was horribly clear to both men that a few snuggles and enjoying each other company wasn't going to make things any easier. If anything, this last dose of love and contact would only make things worse when Sherlock and John were gone.

**OoOoOoO**

"I have to finish your work, Jimmy. I have to kill him."

"_Kill him? Don't be dull, Seb." _

"What else can I do! I want to finish your work while there is still time! The damn detective has killed off every other person in the network besides me! He's taken down your empire and taken you away!"

"_Oh, Sebby. Think more like __**me. **__What would I do to Sherlock Holmes?" _

Sebastian flinched as if hit at Sherlock's name. "I dunno, torture him? I can do that, Jim. I'll do anything for you."

"_You can't do anything for me, Sebby. I'm dead. I'm a figment of your subconscious now, darling."_

"SHUT UP! I'm going to fix this. For you, Jimmy."

"_Well, if you insist…yes, torture would do nicely, but the last mission was to burn out his heart. What would really do that, Sebby? What would leave a gaping, flaming hole in that man's chest- besides a bazooka?" _

"A flamethrower? I don't know! Tell me what to do. This is for you, after all."

"_Yes, but you have your own style, don't you?"_

"Shut up, Jimmy, and get to the point."

"_Mmm, you haven't lost any of your fire. I like that. Well, Jim, Sherlock has a little girl now, doesn't he? A cute little adopted-daughter. She means the world to him; he even gave up trying to kill you to adopt her."_

"Yeah, so what? Kill the little bitch? Torture her? Cut out her eyes?"

"_You __**could **__do that, Seb, but that's what I would do. I'd be dramatic, theatrical. I'd give Sherly plenty of little clues and puzzles and games to race through while I cut out her spleen and pulled out her eyelashes. But that's not __**you**__." _

"Yeah, it wouldn't be me. I'd kill the little bitch with no mercy, that's what I'd do."

"_And that's why you're brilliant, Sebby."_

"What?"

"_Must I do everything for you, even in death? Sherlock Holmes is at his best when he's playing to his strengths. If you give him a puzzle to solve, he'll solve it. You throw him a code, he'll break it. However, if we did what you suggested, our sleuth wouldn't be able to do anything. He wouldn't be able to use any of his genius to save what mattered most to him. He did that once, Seb, and it took me away from you."_

"…That's cruel, Jimmy. I like it."

"_Somehow I knew you would."_

__**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Hello, hello! I've missed you all very much and I am SO sorry that this chapter is a bit...late. I've been incredibly busy with MORE midterms and studying. I find myself leaving my room at 8am and not finding my way back until midnight or one in the morning. I've barely had time for homework, let alone writing this story. BUT, I have good news. I've got almost all of it written now, so it's not like you'll be left hanging, looking for me to write it...it'll just be an issue of having the time to update!**

**So- do you like where this is going? We've moved on past the funeral and we are racing towards a very...exciting conclusion. There will be danger, and lots of it! Nothing is at seems...**

**Reviews make me incredibly happy, so please just type EXACTLY what you feel into the box below and send it to me, unedited. I love hearing from every single one of you. :)**

**louisuperwholocked on Tumblr is such a beautiful person and a fantastic editor. Thanks for being my beta, darling!**


	20. Chapter 20

On their last night together as a family, Felicity insisted on sleeping in the same bed as Sherlock and John. She took a lot of comfort from being close to them, and wasn't about to pass up her last opportunity to be near her loved ones. They followed their same nightly routine in a kind of pained silence before all crawling into Sherlock's big bed, Felicity in the middle. In the quiet of the night the three of them stayed close, Sherlock lying behind Felicity, one of his long arms extended over her waist to hold hands with John. There was nothing further that needed to be said- it was just a matter of burning the few precious hours they had left before Sherlock and John were to leave. For Sherlock and John, the weight of their mission lay heavy upon them; their mission with Moran was do or die. For Felicity, the worries and calculations of failure raced through her mind, unable to be quieted no matter how hard she tried. She wished terribly that she could go with Sherlock and John, but for obvious reasons she had to stay behind. Also, in the back of her mind, the idea of meeting the famous Mummy Holmes stirred. She was excited to meet Sherlock's mother and terrified at the same time. Felicity wanted to make a good impression and she wanted to be friends with this mysterious woman. She had never had any problems charming anyone before, but Felicity didn't want to charm Sherlock's mother, she wanted to be loved by her the same way Sherlock and John loved her. She was terrified that their connection would be fragile and fake at best, despite Sherlock's constant reassurance that Felicity would do very well. Only when it was very early in the morning did the three of them finally drift off, their anxious minds winding down and allowing them to rest.

In the morning, their little family was reluctant to let business start to take over their need to spend time together. The idea of getting up and separating from their last warm, comfortable moment that they would have in a long time was cruel. Eventually, however, more pressing needs came down upon them, forcing the three of them to get up and face the day. Breakfast was a quiet affair, and the flat stayed quiet as Sherlock and John started gathering up and packing rucksacks. Mycroft was coming to pick Felicity up later in the afternoon to take her to the Holmes estate, so Felicity had to pack as well. Unfortunately, Felicity was very quick and she was soon left with nothing to do but try not to listen to the sounds of Sherlock and John talking quietly about things they'd need as they scourged the flat, looking for anything useful. She played the piano for a bit, but her heart really wasn't in it.

Out of the blue, halfway through her reprise of one of Rachmaninoff's many piano concertos, she heard a loud _thump, _a _crash, _and then someone gave a yell before another loud _crash. _Her fingers clashed on the keys, ending the music as she listened to the suddenly eerie silence of the flat.

Felicity froze at her piano, unsure of what to think. Her mind had already rationalized that whatever had happened out there wasn't an accident and if she couldn't hear voices and if Sherlock and John weren't coming around the corner apologizing about the scare, then something was wrong. Her mind instantly ran through every possible way of getting out of the flat. Only the windows that faced the street could reach the roof, and both were only accessible through the sitting room, where the sounds had come from. Hiding would make obvious noise and Felicity was not about to hide underneath a bed like a child. Seeing that her only option had come down to arming herself and trying to get out of 221B to find help, Felicity got up from her piano and found the heaviest book she could find. With that in hand, she inched out into the hallway and down the stairs, sticking to the shadows.

She could hear a man walking around the sitting room, pushing piles of papers aside, as if searching for something. His tread suggested that he was a tall man, heavy, but with muscle, not with fat. As Felicity inched further forward, her breath caught in her chest and she nearly dropped her book. She could see where John was sprawled in the doorway to the kitchen, unmoving, a lump starting to rise on the back of his head. Felicity didn't note any blood from the hit to the back of John's head, but sometimes that only made the wound worse. He was breathing, which was the most important thing. Fighting to keep her cool focus, Felicity considered running for the door. It would be awful to leave John and Sherlock (especially because she had no idea where the detective was), but if it meant that she escaped to get help then she was more than willing to take a risk. Felicity kept the book firmly in her grip and inched to the other side of the hallway to see the door better, wincing when Sherlock came into view. He was also on the floor, his limbs every which way from his fall. She couldn't see the back of his head, but she could infer that he'd been bludgeoned with something heavy too.

A sudden snicker made her head shoot up. The man, who had been poking around by the windows, was suddenly striding over towards her, a very dangerous look on his face. Her mind flashed back to the brief lessons Charley had taught her on self-defense and she faked throwing the book to throw this man off and then threw it as hard as she could, clipping him in the temple. He let out a bellow as she ducked forward, heading for the door. "Oh no you don't," he growled, grabbing her by the back of the shirt and, spinning with his weight, he threw Felicity into the nearest bookshelf. All the air in her lungs left with a _whoosh _as her spine collided painfully with the shelves, her head following a second later. Sherlock's books tumbled down out of the shelf from the force of the man's throw, littering the floor.

Determined to fight him, even through the hazy pain in her brain, Felicity ducked when he went to grab the front of her shirt and kneed him as hard as she could in the groin. It was a worthwhile effort, but it was like David versus Goliath. He let out a snarl, grabbing her by the throat and shoving her at Sherlock's desk. She fell across the top of it and to the floor, scattering books and papers everywhere. Gasping for breath, her ribs on fire, Felicity forced herself to get up again, crawling under the desk as the man came around. He lunged for her, sending the coffee table skittering by several feet as he finally caught onto her arm and yanked her back to him. His arm was tight around her bicep, his fingers digging into her skin as he gave her a vicious, second yank. With a crack and a scream from Felicity, her arm dislocated out of its socket, spreading burning pain from her shoulder until Felicity thought she would pass out. "Gotcha," he growled under his breath, wrapping one arm around Felicity's waist as he suddenly jabbed his thumb onto the pressure point on her neck with the other.

Felicity struggled uselessly (the man already had her off the ground and he was much stronger, not to mention the pain radiating through her body at her dislocated arm), trying to fight him off as well as the darkness starting to grow in her brain. He was knocking her out and once she was unconscious, she was most likely dead. She couldn't let him win, couldn't let him kill her and possibly Sherlock and John too. As the last standing defense of the Watson-Holmes family, she was doing a poor job of protecting them. Odd feelings spread through her panicked mind; guilt, sadness, fear. Before she completely went under, a deduction slammed into her brain, making her panic flare with new force.

_He was tall, with muscle, military stature and past experience. The marks on the back of the fingers on his left hand showed that he gripped something often, most likely a trigger judging by the size and depth of the callouses. One shoulder seemed stronger than the other, probably from absorbing the kickback from a __**sniper's rifle. **__He was a strange man intent on hurting them in their flat. How many enemies did they currently have that were ex-military snipers? Just one._

_The man abducting her was Sebastian Moran._

With that one last panicked thought in mind, Felicity sank into unconsciousness. Satisfied that the heart of Sherlock Holmes was thoroughly knocked out, Sebastian Moran let her drop ungracefully to the floor. Pulling a rolled up duffle bag out of the pocket of his military cargo pants, he unrolled it and unzipped it, stuffing the girl he was kidnapping inside. Once she was out of sight, he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder with ease. After taking a brief moment to smirk down at the knocked out detective, Moran pulled a note out of his pocket and left it on their coffee table, taking the knife from the mantle to pin the paper to the polished wood.

Sebastian was going to make Sherlock Holmes pay; make him feel the loss that he had carried for the past three years. Once he'd made the detective suffer, he'd kill his sidekick, the doctor, next. Then, when it came down to it and Sherlock Holmes was nothing but a man who had lost everything, Moran was going to torture the detective until all the blood ran dry in his veins.

Only then would he be satisfied that he'd avenged Jim's death. Then, once Sebastian felt that his debt had been repaid, maybe, just maybe, he could join Jim, his lover, in death. At that moment, nothing would make the ex-sniper happier than to join his own consulting criminal, but he had work to do, people to torture, and crimes to commit.

With that thought in mind, Moran pulled the strap of the duffle bag across his shoulder in a nonchalant way, rubbing the spot on his temple where the little bitch had hit him with a book. It didn't hurt so much as it was irritating. Relishing the moment that he could pull the trigger and end her life, he straightened his appearance and strode out of 221B, vanishing into the city of London.

**OoOoOoO**

"Sherlock, Sherlock, get up! _Sherlock!" _A voice was yelling at the detective, bringing him back up from the darkest corner of his mind. How did he get there? His head was pounding and nothing was making much sense. Brief flashes of memory struggled to be processed- stacking papers with his back to the door, a sudden searing pain to the back of his head…"For the love of- Sherlock, wake up!" He finally realized that it was John yelling at him and he finally processed the urgent, almost panicked tone to John's voice. He forced his eyes open, blinking a few times against the harshness of the light. John was leaning over him, his face just as panicked as his tone. "Sherlock- thank god," John blurted quickly, helping him sit up. Sherlock's ears rang as he closed his eyes and explored a rather large bump on the back of his head. He'd been bludgeoned with something heavy, knocked out in his own flat. Why?

Sherlock opened his eyes to investigate, not bothering to waste precious time asking John what had happened; he could figure it out much more quickly. If he and John were still in their flat, unharmed, then whoever knocked them out wasn't interested in them at all. As he scanned the living room, a pang of fear shot through Sherlock's gut. There were obvious signs of a struggle- the coffee table had moved by several feet, everything on his desk was now on the floor, and one of the bookshelves had been hit with such force that half of the books had tumbled out and onto the floor. If he and John were alright but there were signs of a fight…_Felicity._ "Where is she, John?" Sherlock croaked, struggling to his feet. John grasped his arm and helped him up, his face pale as he automatically understood how Sherlock had come to that conclusion.

"There's a note," John said tonelessly, passing Sherlock a sheet of paper. Sherlock scrubbed at the grit in his eyes briefly before accepting the sheet, his heart stopping as he read over the words.

_Sherlock Holmes,_

_Only one man was supposed to die at St. Bartholomew's Hospital that day. For the longest time the world has thought that two men died when in reality, only the wrong man died. You murdered him, you murdered Jim. Now that I'm the next in line, I'm carrying on his work. Do you want to know what his last mission was? It was to burn the heart out of you, and I intend to finish the job. _

_At first I thought it would be easy; I would kill you myself- but that's what I would do, not Jim. Jim would draw it out, make you scream and beg and cry for mercy. He would destroy you, rip you to shreds and only then give you the pleasure of death. While I find all that very admirable, I decided to put my own spin on things. Attacking you personally would burn out your heart…but there's something else…someone else…that means much more to you than just your reputation and even your life. _

_I'm talking about your recently adopted daughter. (By the way, did I offer my congratulations? You and John must be so proud.) She means more to you than the world; how unfortunate for her. _

_If I were to follow Jim's idiom, I would give you a puzzle, a timeline, a threat. I would torture your precious little girl while I gave you time to save her. The emotional pain it would cause you would be satisfying, I admit, but I'm not Jim. I'm Sebastian Moran, the man you took everything away from. You took everything from me so I'll take everything from you._

_There is no puzzle, no test, and no clue. There is no chance of retrieving your daughter. I have her and I will kill her. There is nothing you can do to change that. You are helpless. WEAK. _

_How does it feel?_

_Sebastian Moran_

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Tee hee! Teehehehehehee! I'm evil and I know it. I'd apologize, but I'm not that sorry. SO! More drama! It's very short drama, cue the quick update, but know that there is much more left to come! **

**I love all of you and all of your reviews, just so you know. I save every single one in my email so that I can look over them from time to time. :)**

**louisuperwholocked is the best beta and friend I could ask for. **


	21. Chapter 21

**There's a bit of violence in this one- more so than we've had before, so I upped the rating to T and I'm warning you now. There's no torture or anything like that...just disturbing ideas/images/thoughts. **

* * *

Felicity came back to consciousness slowly. _Too slowly,_ her mind screamed through its haze. Her head ached and felt suspiciously tender, keeping her from remembering a fact in her head, a fact that she knew was important but couldn't recall. Something had happened, something was wrong, but her brain was too sluggish to think properly. Felicity's eyes struggled to flutter open as sounds began to register in her mind. Cars. People. Traffic. None of it made any sense; according to her last recallable memories, she'd been at the flat when-

_A man, clearly with military experience standing over the crumpled forms of Sherlock and John, grinning at her with such malice that the hairs on the back of her neck stood up-_

_Desperately trying to fight him off, to gain leverage, but to no avail as a frightfully strong arm closed around her bicep and yanked with enough force to dislocate her arm with a sick __**crack-**_

_Strong fingers on the pressure point on her neck, forcing her body to shut down when the last thing it wanted to do was be rendered unconscious-_

Felicity blinked frantically, trying to clear her hazy vision. She was on the ground, draped and slumped onto something cold and round- a pipe. One of her arms was above her head and the cold metal of a handcuff was sealed around her wrist, keeping her tethered to the pipe. Odd shapes and objects registered in her brain; an AC unit, fans, cold cement tiles. She was on a roof, explaining the noise of the traffic on the streets below. Biting back gasps of pain, Felicity collected her other arm, the one that was dislocated, from its sprawled position on the ground and curled it slowly into her chest, clenching her teeth and flexing her jaw in an effort to stay quiet. She had no idea where she was or the conditions of her kidnapping, and until she figured out what was going on she wanted the element of surprise. Her mind frantically wondered what had happened to Sherlock and John. Were they alright? Were they near her somewhere? The fact that she didn't know what had happened to them nearly shut her down with panic until she reminded herself to try to stay focused; panicking wouldn't help her. As her brain finally 'booted up' completely, Felicity realized that she was handcuffed to a pipe that carried natural gas. To make matters worse, sitting next to her was a rather large bomb. It had a digital readout and wires going every which way. Packets of C4 were applied haphazardly to a gas can- the bomb was homemade and made rather quickly at that. To Felicity's relief, the bomb was active but did not have the ability to be set on a timer. When it detonated, it would _detonate, _most likely leveling the building she was on top of in the process. The natural gas would ignite the already deadly explosion and make it millions of times worse. The most important thing, however, was that Felicity wouldn't have to sit and watch the timer go down to zero.

Putting the bomb aside for a moment, Felicity assessed her body for injuries. Her head still felt slow- she'd been drugged. She had a few nicks and cuts in defensive wounds from her hopeless fight against Moran. Her back ached from where she'd been slammed into a bookshelf; Sherlock's may volumes on Chemistry raining down on her head. Her wrist trapped in the handcuff felt numb and sore from where it had been tugging in one position for so long. Finally, her shoulder was still painfully dislocated to a point where it was hard for Felicity to think. Even with her arm tucked in the proper position waves of pain and nausea flew around her head. Felicity forced herself to take slow even breaths as she tried to think. She needed to identify her location and try to catch attention as soon as possible- "Don't bother with that, darling. We'll tell you where you are." A man's voice, slightly hoarse made Felicity flinch and then cry out when her hurt arm contracted. Her eyes smarted up in pain and by the time that faded, Sebastian Moran was standing over her, smirking. "We'll tell you anything you want to know." He continued. Gathering her wits, Felicity slowly propped herself up straighter until she felt a bit more in control. Her arm and shoulder were throbbing, but that was only to be expected. Locking away her fear, Felicity studied the man in front of her. She was confused as to why he'd said 'we'll' instead of 'I'll'. Perhaps he wasn't working alone? Her mind instantly made deductions to shoot that hypothesis down, however, leaving her suspicious and unsure.

"Where are John and Sherlock?" She asked, trying to prioritize, and a predatory grin spread over his face.

"Oh, don't worry about them, love. We won't be laying a finger on their heads." Moran said smoothly, and Felicity quickly processed his answer, his body language. She could tell that he wasn't hiding anything and he wasn't being false with her- Sherlock and John weren't here and they were, for the moment, safe. That notion made Felicity inclined to relax, but the idea that Moran wasn't torturing her or hadn't already killed her made her suspicious. If he was Sherlock's last standing enemy, why was he being so civil with her?

"This is revenge, then." Felicity said slowly. That was the only reason why Moran would go for her instead of Sherlock himself; Sherlock had killed Moriarty. Judging by the theatrics of this kidnapping, Felicity guessed that Moriarty meant a great deal to the man in front of her now- too much. He couldn't bear with his loss so he was aiming to wound Sherlock the way Sherlock had wounded him. Moran growled through his teeth.

"Yes," he said shortly. "This is for you, Jimmy." He added, to himself. Then, to Felicity's surprise and horror, he kept right on talking. "_I'm so proud of you, Seb. You've come so far and now there is only one thing left to do." _He was fielding a conversation between himself and, well, himself. Felicity pieced together instantly that Sebastian Moran was a very crazy man- he was convinced that he could hear and talk to his dead lover. "You're right." Sebastian told himself, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun, aiming for Felicity's forehead.

"You don't want to do that, I don't think," Felicity said, more surprised than she was afraid. Moran was lining up his shot as if he was going to take it right then and there. If that was his purpose, what was the bomb for? Even worse, if he missed his shot, he'd hit the pipe with natural gas and kill himself on accident and in his current mental state, Felicity saw that as a high possibility.

"Shut up!" Moran yelled. "You don't know a thing about me!" His eyes grew almost manic as he tried to line up his shot again.

"Oh, but I do. I know that you loved the man you have killed and are about to kill for. What I don't understand is why you don't love him as much as you love yourself." Felicity kept talking, mostly to calm herself down. One stray second, one moment when she wasn't in control and the chances of her dying along with everyone in the building below her increased exponentially. She needed to keep him focused on something else without angering him; a high order, but one that she was determined to try and fill- her life depended on it.

"Excuse me?" Moran spluttered, lowering his gun and staring at Felicity.

"I know about Jim and I know that you are doing this for him, but I don't understand why you are doing it if it puts you through such torment. There are better ways to remember him." Felicity continued softly, the fingers on her injured arm surreptitiously clenching around Charley's dog-tags that were hidden under her shirt. _I might be joining you shortly, Charley, _Felicity thought briefly as Moran stared at her, his eyes slightly dull with delirium as he just watched her, jaw down and mind churning a mile a minute. Felicity could only hope that she was guessing correctly. After all, she was winding Moran up based solely on assumptions and deductions. If she was wrong, he could get very angry and then he would most likely kill her.

"_She's right, Seb. I love you and I love that you want to honor me, but it's destroying you." _The words passed through Moran's lips almost silently, as if he wasn't speaking at all and Moriarty really was back from the dead and just behind him, hidden from Felicity's view. Moran flinched seconds later at his own words, covering his face with one shaking hand. The gun, thankfully, was now pointed at the ground. "_You know what to do, Sebby. Don't be such a pussy." _Sebastian kept talking and as he spoke, the gun slowly started to rise again. To Felicity's horror, it came to a stop at Moran's temple.

"Wait, please, wait," she begged. As much pain as she was in, as terrified as she was of being murdered up there and never seeing John or Sherlock again, she didn't want someone who was obviously sick to kill themselves because of something she'd said. She hadn't suggested suicide, but Moran's fractured mind had bent and skewed her words to fit its own purposes. Moran didn't seem to hear her as he closed his eyes, breathing shallowly as he loaded the gun. "_Please! _Listen to me!" Felicity raised her voice frantically as a dopey, dreamy sort of smile crossed Moran's face.

"I'm coming, Jimmy," he whispered. Before Felicity could react further, Moran pulled the trigger. In a blast of blood, he collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground. Gasping in shock, Felicity stared at the dead body in front of her, stared at his neck where she wanted to see a pulse point, stared at his glassy, unmoving eyes, staring at the alarmingly large pool of blood that was slowly inching her way…

Panic made her close her eyes and lean her head back against the pipe as warm blood started to soak into her jeans. Killing himself was obviously not part of Moran's plan and considering he was working alone, that meant that no one else knew that Felicity was stuck on a rooftop with a bomb next to her, the lives of possibly hundreds of people at stake below her. Felicity bit her tongue and did what she did best; she bottled her emotions away so that she wouldn't cry. Crying and panicking wouldn't help her get out of this, she needed to _think. _

_You can handle this_, Felicity told herself as she took deep, shuddering breaths. Her pants and bare feet were covered in Moran's blood and his body was _far _too close, but she had to ignore it. She had to keep her wits about her if anything was going to get better. After a few more breaths, Felicity started to rationalize. She needed a schedule, a to-do list, if she was going to keep panic at bay. Step one? Defuse the bomb sitting next to her. She wouldn't be able to concentrate with the constant threat of being blown up, even on accident. Moran probably had the detonator on his body somewhere, but there was no way that Felicity could find it, not in her state. She would have to take apart the bomb itself, then. Giving her mind a puzzle to work on, she studied the device. Wires went into the open cap of the gas-can and into the crudely packaged C4. To erase any chance of the C4 igniting, Felicity would need to cut through the main trip wire without creating sparks. Looking around her, Felicity searched for something sharp, trying to push down her hysteria- if she couldn't find anything, her situation was hopeless. She was handcuffed to a pipe on a rooftop- who would find her there?

Finally, she noticed that on Moran's belt, close to her left foot, was a knife sheath. Of course an ex-military man would carry a knife, Felicity chastised herself. Her emotions were getting the best of her, keeping her from thinking clearly (the possible concussion didn't help either) and she hated that. Slowly, carefully, she worked open the clasp with her toes and pulled the knife out and towards her, through the pool of Moran's blood until it was sitting by her hip. It was now sticky with the coagulating blood, but Felicity had bigger problems. To defuse the bomb she would need to use her free arm, the arm that was dislocated. Realizing that this was going to be a long and painful process, Felicity bent over as far as she could, putting pressure on her trapped wrist and not her arm to get as close as she could to the knife. Then, keeping her arm as steady as possible, she reached out slowly and grasped the knife. She sat back again, closing her eyes to focus herself. This next bit was going to hurt a lot more; she had to reach out, find the right wire, and push up through it to cut it cleanly. The stress on her arm would not feel good. Urging herself to stay calm, Felicity opened her eyes and found the trip wire. Thankfully, Moran, in his despair and obvious madness, had left it right on top.

It took several minutes for Felicity to stretch out her arm with the knife in hand to grasp the trip wire. Every time she moved it red hot pain flashed down her arm and raising the limb was even worse. It was putting too much stress on her clavicle, a threatening pressure that warned her of fractures and if she pushed it too far, a broken bone. More than once she cried out in pain as she slowly wormed the tip of the knife under the correct wire. Once it was solidly in place, Felicity sent a quick thought up to Charley and yanked up with all her strength. It only barely registered in her mind that she'd cut the right wire and hadn't blown the place up because she'd felt something start to break in her clavicle and the agony was so bad that she felt like she couldn't breathe. When the pain finally died down to a controllable level, Felicity cracked her eyes open. The digital readout on the bomb was dead- it wouldn't explode unless she took a match to it. Her life and the countless lives in the in the building below her were safe.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Felicity closed her eyes and let her head fall back. With one step done on her list of things to do, she figured that she could use a rest, the pain numbing her nerves a dangerous sleeping agent, but one that would help her rest. It would be just a quick nap, she reasoned…

**OoOoOoO**

John and Sherlock stood silently in Lestrade's office, Mycroft behind them. They were gathered around Lestrade's computer as they watched CCTV footage of Moran entering the flat and Moran leaving the flat with a black duffle bag over his shoulder. That was it- there was no other footage of Moran at all, it was as if he had disappeared of the face of the planet. With a poorly concealed snarl, Sherlock started to pace, trying to avoid looking at the note on Lestrade's desk. The idea that there was no way at all he could use his mental prowess to save Felicity was nearly driving him mad. With no footage, no evidence, and no clues, Sherlock was helpless, frustrated, and very afraid. His only hope, no matter how morbid it seemed, was that Moran hadn't contacted them again to gloat over Felicity's death. Without that confirmation, there was still a chance that Felicity was alive. "My office will scan CCTV footage from all over the city. This does not end here, Sherlock." Mycroft said, his voice frightfully calm- which meant that Mycroft was just as upset as he was. While Sherlock let all his emotion out when he was angry, Mycroft reeled it in and stored that emotion, using it as fuel. He gave them all a brief nod before striding out, his cell phone already in hand. With a sigh, Lestrade closed the CCTV program and stood up to face John and Sherlock.

"Listen, there isn't much we can do here," he said tiredly. "We've already got a missing child alert out and a warning out on Moran's description, but without a lead we can't do anything."

"There are no leads!" Sherlock practically yelled with frustration, turning on the DI. His usual method of shutting himself off from emotion had flown out the window as soon as he had read the note from the colonel, and his panic of not being able to help the person who mattered most to him was overwhelming. "I can't work- how am I supposed to work when there aren't any leads, Lestrade? You can't expect me to do your job for you- I can't even work-I can't do anything when it really matters-!"

"Sherlock, that's enough," John said it quietly yet with enough conviction to stop Sherlock's miniature panic attack. John's senses were screaming at him to do something, _anything, _but Sherlock had voiced his own fears perfectly; without any hint as to where Moran had gone, there was nothing he could do to help recover Felicity. The only thing he could do was keep calm and keep Sherlock from going insane. It was a tall order, but John was damned if he couldn't fill it because it was the one thing, the _one _thing he could do. Sherlock deflated, passing a hand over his face. John could see his fingers trembling as he fought to control himself and think logically. "There has to be something we can look at- how about the note?" John continued, gesturing hopelessly to the piece of paper sealed in an evidence bag on Lestrade's desk.

"It tells us nothing, John." Sherlock said, voice flat with restrained emotion. "The paper is a standard size, 8X11. The quality is incredibly low, most likely mass printed from an office supply store. The note is handwritten in black ink from a ballpoint pen, nothing special there. Moran is left handed and was angry but methodical when he wrote the note- the nib of the pen pressed into the paper with force, but the handwriting is perfectly legible. The content of the note itself only tells us that Felicity was taken with the intent to kill her." Sherlock rattled off every deduction he'd been holding back in one angry breath. Lestrade and John stared at him before looking away at almost the same time, unable to hold his gaze.

"Your brother will keep us informed, Sherlock, and you'll have all of Scotland Yard backing you when a clue turns up." Lestrade said firmly after a moment. "And don't tell me how there won't be one because you _always _say that criminals and murderers and kidnappers always slip up at one point and you're right- they always do. This Moran guy will do something stupid and then we'll be right there to stop him." Lestrade continued when Sherlock's head shot up, an angry glint in his eye. The DI and the detective stared each other down briefly before Sherlock gave him one, tight nod before sweeping out.

"Thanks, Greg," John muttered, grateful for Lestrade's unfailingly calm and stern manner. Without it, Sherlock and John would feel more useless than they already did. Lestrade gave him a sad sort of smile in return and John ducked out of the room. Sherlock was pacing in front of the lifts, his eyes burning with such force that John was surprised to see that he hadn't burnt holes into the carpeting. John gently caught his arm, bringing the detective to a stop. "Sherlock," John meant to have his tone be soothing, but his voice cracked. Sherlock's head snapped around to look at him as the door to the lift opened, his eyes cataloging every hidden stress on John's face. Without a word, Sherlock pulled John into the elevator and hugged him tight, embracing him and burying his face into John's hair as the doors closed. "This isn't your fault, Sherlock." John managed, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Sherlock's refusal to take on his last enemy in order to be there for Felicity had been kind, but it had also been foolish. Without the detective pursuing him, Moran had used that free time to plan and attack. Despite that, it wasn't Sherlock's fault that Moran had taken Felicity- he could have gone after Mrs. Hudson, or John, or even Sherlock himself. Moran was a dangerous, cruel man that Sherlock had no control over. It wasn't his fault.

"How can you say that, John?" Sherlock hissed, his tone jagged from restraint. "I pressured Moran, I destroyed Moriarty's crime network, _I _pushed Moriarty to kill himself, which, in turn, angered Moran. This is entirely my fault."

"No," John disagreed; looking up and taking Sherlock's chin with a gentle firmness that Sherlock didn't dare test. John caught his gaze, making it very clear that he was deadly serious and not to be ignored. "It's not your fault." John repeated slowly, not breaking eye contact. Sherlock let out a shaky breath, and then another, before his breaths matched John's- slow and sure. John stroked the side of his face briefly, his fingers lingering on Sherlock's jaw, before he dropped his hand. He was more of a soldier now than he was a doctor or even more than he was just plain old John. He had to keep on, to keep going, for Felicity's sake. "Think, Sherlock. What can we do?" he asked softly, and Sherlock's brow furrowed briefly, the signal John learned to recognize when Sherlock was on a particularly difficult case. He was relieved to see it; if Sherlock was treating this like a case he would turn into the ruthless sociopath he once was, not the tender man he'd turned into since he met Felicity. Sherlock wouldn't make the mistake of letting sentiment into his job.

"Let's start a search perimeter around the flat. The Yard already tried that, but they're all idiots; we may find something they didn't." Sherlock said confidently, his momentary panic attack long forgotten. John gave a silent nod of approval as the doors to the lift opened and the two of them quickly left, heading back to Baker Street.

**OoOoOoO**

As the sun traveled around, suggesting that it was now late afternoon, Felicity shifted, trying to get comfortable. Once the pain had faded, she took the time to examine her surroundings more closely. She was tucked down behind an AC unit, perfectly out of view of the CCTV cameras mounted on the surrounding buildings. Judging by the volume of the traffic, Felicity could guess that she was six, maybe seven floors up. She could quite frequently hear sirens, suggesting to her that she was at a hospital. It didn't take her long to think of the only hospital in London that fit the current location, level of traffic, architecture of the building, and height. She was on top of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, the place where Sherlock used to write to her about where he'd conduct experiments and steal body parts. She couldn't be more than twenty minutes from home. The irony of Moran picking the same hospital where Jim died was not lost on Felicity, and the idea that she could end up dying there as well made her stomach twist. It didn't help that Moran's dead body was sprawled directly in front of her.

Grimacing in pain, Felicity sat up. It was time to execute step two; attract attention to the world that she was, in fact, being held prisoner up on a roof with a dead body to keep her company. Her shoulder had swollen a bit, and Felicity knew that if she tried to do much else she'd probably snap her clavicle completely, pressuring the already painful fractures into something much worse. The idea made panic flutter in her heart, but if she had to, she knew that she would. Reminding herself to take deep breaths and to not think of Sherlock and John (when she did she felt like crying and that was counter-productive), Felicity examined her tools. She had a bomb, a knife, a dead body, her own voice, and Moran's gun. Blowing something up was obviously out of the equation- she'd kill herself in the process, and trying to call for help would be utterly useless thanks to the height of the building. She could try to distract a CCTV camera, but that would be an incredible amount of work that had no guarantee of success. Felicity groaned, letting her head fall back against the pipe in frustration. As she did so, the chain of Charley's dog tags slid on her neck, making her freeze at the sensation as it sparked an idea in her head.

She could use Charley's dog tags to get attention. If she could get her dog tags off the roof and onto the street below, someone would find them. Felicity was fairly sure that her name and description was being circulated around London by now, and if someone were to find the dog tags, they'd see the last name, _Muller, _right on them. With her disappearance fresh in the news, a random passerby would statistically most likely turn them in rather than disregard the dog tags. Besides, once the tags were turned in, Sherlock would be all over it, if he wasn't hot on her trail already. Crippling sadness hit Felicity like a wrecking ball as she tried not to cry again. She was literally throwing her last tie to Charley away, the last bit of her brother that she had in the world. She knew that she wasn't abandoning Charley, but the idea of letting go of her brother was too much to bear. The dog-tags around her neck had been one of her only sources of comfort since Charley's death, and it seemed awful to throw them off a building. After lots of gasping and swearing and wanting to scream in agony, Felicity got the dog-tags off. It was quite the process; she had to undo the clasp to get it off her neck and then close it once more to keep the dog tags from sliding off their chain because she was unable to pull them over her head with her one arm still chained to the pipe. Moran's blood was all over her fingers from touching the knife that she had been forced to drag through the puddle of blood, so red smears marked her fingerprints on the smooth metal. Felicity balled them up in her fist, taking in a ragged breath to try and calm herself.

Tossing the tags was going to hurt quite a bit and Felicity knew that there was a very good chance of her breaking her clavicle completely. It was a risk she was willing to take- the dog tags would catch attention quickly, and that was exactly what she needed. Before she could fully think about how badly it was going to hurt, Felicity drew her arm back and threw the necklace with all her might, unable to bite back a scream as with an audible cracking sound, her clavicle broke. Slumping against the pipe, the last comfort Felicity took was that she had seen the silver flash that were the dog tags fly over the edge- they'd at least made it off of the roof. With that in mind, she let the pain radiating down her nerves push her into unconsciousness.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: So...yep. That happened. And I'm sort of sorry for the amount of gore but I'm also proud that I kept things mostly calm. I mean, the only violence you've seen on St. Bart's rooftop so far was Moriarty blowing his own brains out, so I thought it was only ironic or symbolic or whatever for Moran to do the same. Sorry, MorMor fans. I didn't mean to kill him, honest. It just sort of...happened. **

**Sherlock and John are on the case, Felicity is being incredibly brave for someone who is up to the eyes in trouble, and the only way you can find out what happens next is to wait! Patiently. Sort of. **

**Reviews make me so very happy, I hope you know that. **

**I also hope you know that louisuperwholocked on Tumblr is an amazing beta and friend.**


	22. Chapter 22

Felix Hutchinson, a random but not entirely unimportant pedestrian, was sitting on a bench in front of St. Bart's hospital, reading the paper, minding his own business, when a quiet '_clink_' jerked him out of the Classifieds. Lowering his paper, he looked around for the source of the noise and found that a set of military style dog-tags were sitting on the sidewalk. He stared at them for a moment, briefly wondering if they'd been there before and he'd just missed them, or if some of the people passing by had dropped them. Frowning, he folded up his paper and stepped out onto the sidewalk, picking up the tags gingerly, nearly dropping them again when something that seemed horribly like blood came off onto his fingers.

He curled them into his fist, staring at the people around him, hoping to find where they'd come from, but no obvious source presented itself. No one was obviously bleeding, so where had they come from? The man walked into the hospital, turning the tags over to read the name. '**CHARLEY FREDERIC MULLER' **stood out in harsh relief, along with the name of a regiment. Figuring that they had fallen from a patient coming in and he hadn't heard or noticed the tags until a passerby kicked them, Felix headed for the help-desk. Perhaps if he turned them into the lost and found the hospital could find who the dog tags belonged to. "Can I help you, sir?" The woman at the desk asked, looking away from a BBC news report that was playing about a missing girl, turning to face him.

"Yeah, I found these dog tags out on the sidewalk…do you have any patients here named 'Charley Frederic Muller'?" He asked, showing her the tags he'd picked up. The woman blinked at him, looking surprised.

"Muller?" She repeated finally, her voice slightly higher with surprise. She grabbed the TV remote and turned up the volume on the report she'd been watching. The screen switched from the picture of a sweet looking girl with fiery red hair to that of the news anchor.

"We repeat- a child named Felicity Watson-Holmes, formerly Felicity Muller, is missing. She is twelve years old, roughly five feet tall, with very vibrant red hair and dark brown eyes. If you have any information regarding her disappearance, please contact Scotland Yard immediately." The stony faced reporter on the television died off as the woman turned the volume back down, turning to face him.

"Uh, I guess you should, um, call them, then." Felix managed to stutter, utterly floored as he let the dog tags rest on the counter. His mind was spinning with questions, trying to remember the people he'd seen on the sidewalk. He knew for sure that the missing girl hadn't been around, but no one on the sidewalk had looked like kidnappers either. The receptionist stuttered for a moment before picking up her phone and calling the police. It didn't take long for them to respond and four people to make their way over. Two were obviously from the Yard: tired looks, badges, equipment. The other two were civilians that seemed oddly familiar to the man…perhaps he'd seen them in the papers somewhere…

"Right, you found the tags then?" The man in charge asked. He had a slowly fading tan and silver hair, and he seemed ready to throw his arm out to stop the two non-Yarders from running forward. The looks they were sending the poor man weren't helping either. Felix gathered his wits about him. He'd done nothing wrong- all he had to do was tell his story.

"Yeah. I was sitting on a bench outside and I heard someone kick them, I think. I picked them up and figured an incoming patient dropped them, so I brought them in here to the desk." He explained hastily, stepping aside to let the other man from the Yard through. He carried a box with him that had **'FORENSICS'** stamped on the side. Pulling on gloves, he lifted the dog tags into his palm and showed it to the taller, darker-haired civilian.

"Those are hers," he responded instantly, his voice a quick, deep snap as his eyes whizzed over the fingerprints smeared in blood, the name, the chain. His gaze came up and swept briefly over Felix before losing interest. For some reason, that made him very relieved. He didn't like being the focus of the dark-haired man's stare; it made him uneasy.

"I'll test the blood sample right away." The man with the gloves said, pulling away and starting to run a test on the dog tags right in the lobby.

"We need to spread out and search for more clues." The dark-haired man continued, already turning on his heel and rushing out of the hospital, his companion right behind him.

**OoOoOoO**

Felicity woke up gasping for air.

She was still on St. Bart's rooftop, and she was more than aware that her arm and shoulder were still burning with pain. It was the pain that had woken her up, its crippling force pressing onto her chest with enough force to make breathing a struggle. Her mind worked to set aside her agony to try and _think, _but she wasn't sure how long she'd been unconscious. What had changed? Had anything happened? Felicity forced her eyes open to take in her surroundings, trying to understand what was happening based on her available senses.

The first thing she noticed was the time of day. It was early in the morning; the sun was just rising. Traffic was getting started again below her on the street and among that traffic were the sounds of added sirens and shouts. The panic level was very different from the usual hubbub of a patient coming into the hospital, which piqued Felicity's hope. Maybe, just maybe- "_Spread out! _Check every alley, every inch of sidewalk you can find!" She suddenly heard a voice, a voice that stuck out so clearly that she gasped, trying to sit up straighter.

That was, without a doubt, Sherlock.

He sounded younger, more panicked than she'd ever heard him, but the determination in his deep tone was unmistakable. Somehow, her clue with the dog tags had worked- he was at Bart's. The only problem was that he was looking in all the wrong places! She was six stories up and he was searching in an outward radius, not up and through the hospital like she'd hoped he would. How could he not understand the irony of having her on-top of Bart's? Frustration and a bit of terror started to seep into Felicity as the police officers started to organize and spread out. She wasn't strong enough to shout for them and she was so weak that she couldn't create much of a distraction. If she didn't act soon they would never find her- and that spelled out her death. Her mind whizzed through possibilities as she studied her tools.

**OoOoOoO**

"What, so he brought her through here, past here? Why? Why would he do that- this is such a busy road somebody would have noticed-!" John panted as he darted after Sherlock, into the nearest alley to the hospital, trying to get answers. His heart was pounding a mile a minute as he tried to search for clues instead of staring at Sherlock's face. He had been sure that no clues would turn up, despite Lestrade's reassurance, and now that Felicity's dog-tags had been found John was burning with adrenaline. This was the opportunity that wasn't supposed to have presented itself- it was a miracle. And miracles, as everyone knows, only happen once in a very long while. John wasn't about to miss this chance, not with so much at stake. Neither was Sherlock. The most beautiful part about Moran's game was that it _wasn't _a game. He'd asked for nothing and had given nothing for the detective to work over to get Felicity back. Now that he had a clue, Sherlock was going to go to the ends of the Earth to track Moran down.

"Or he came through this way after he already had Felicity," Sherlock muttered to himself, running a hand over the brick wall of the alley as he scanned the ground furiously, looking for any sort of clue.

Up on the rooftop, Felicity knew what she needed to do; she knew what would attract attention in an unmistakable way. She was going to get Moran's gun and empty the remaining five shots into the air. Her foggy mind asked her why she hadn't done that in the first place, but Felicity was in survival mode, she didn't have time to dwell on her mistakes. Leaning forward, she inched her foot out into the pool of blood to grab the gun, gasping in pain as she brought it up to her shaking fingers. Before pulling the trigger, she realized that the kickback from the gun would hurt her already damaged shoulder exponentially; she'd need to switch hands. Urging herself on, Felicity passed the gun up with a brief scream of pain as her shoulder turned and contracted in the gesture, but none of that mattered anymore. She had the gun, in hand, ready to fire. The pain was racing up her senses, threatening to push her into unconsciousness again, but Felicity's survival instincts were in full effect. Her finger curled around the trigger and she aimed the gun straight into the sky…

**OoOoOoO**

"Wait, stop! Did you hear that?" Donovan, at the mouth of the alley, suddenly yelled, stopping everyone as she raised a hand as if to shush them. Her head was cocked half to the side, staring at the sidewalk in confusion as she listened closely. She looked a bit pale, as if she'd heard something that disturbed her.

"What? What did you hear?" Sherlock demanded, striding over to her. She stiffened visibly as Sherlock flew over, bearing down on her. Donovan tried to avoid his gaze as much as possible. She'd seen an entirely different man in Sherlock Holmes now that this brilliant young girl was in his life. The idea of him reverting back into who he was before frightened her a bit but made her sad at the same time. He may have been a complete arse, but she knew that he deserved better.

"It sounded like a scream," Sally admitted, not looking at the detective. Not even seconds later, Felicity pulled the trigger, gritting her teeth through the recoil as she fired again and again until the clip was spent into the open air over St. Bart's. Down on the ground, officers yelled and scuttled for cover, throwing their arms over their heads and faces for minimal but instinctive protection as the gunshots echoed loudly, the sound reverberations bouncing off of buildings with an eerie sound. The harsh, non-relenting pace of the shots, so deliberate, made every person in the vicinity uneasy.

"Five shots fired, on the rooftop of the hospital, requesting backup," Lestrade was the first to snap into action, gripping his radio with enough force to crush it. He turned to Sherlock and John, to see what they wanted to do next, but neither man was responding. They were still crouched on the filthy ground of the alley, arms half raised over their heads as they stared at each other, one thought passing through their minds at exactly the same time.

_They got too close._

If Moran had been watching them, lying low, and they got too near his hideout, there was no doubt that he would murder Felicity right then and there. As soon as Donovan had reported a scream, someone fired a gun five times in a row, very near to them. The possibilities and the probability of Felicity still being alive ran through Sherlock's head, forcing him to face a grim conclusion. It was that number in his head that made him jerk to his feet and take off running, cursing his stupidity and trying not to completely panic. His mind had been numb with sentiment; he hadn't seen the obviousness of their location. This was _St. Bart's, _the hospital he had leapt off of three years ago. It was the place where Moriarty died, and now, most likely, the place where Felicity had died as well. _No, no, no _chanted through Sherlock's brain as he reached the service entrance and ducked inside, racing for the lift and jamming the button marked for the roof. He didn't care that Moran would be up there, armed, and Sherlock didn't care that he had no weapon to protect himself. All he wanted was to see, to confirm or deny, to _see-_

The lift cluttered to a stop and Sherlock forced his way through before the doors were fully open, racing down the small hallway before bursting out onto the rooftop. At first, he didn't notice anything particularly interesting. It was only after he'd stumbled forward a few steps that he saw a blond head lying on the ground, blood surrounding it. Sherlock jerked himself forward, jogging across the rooftop and turning the corner to try and understand.

Facts hit his brain all at once, struggling to be registered first. Moran was dead on the ground- he had been for almost 24 hours. The puddle of blood around him was frightfully big and led right up to…_Felicity_.

She was leaning against a pipe of natural gas, eyes closed, and her free arm drawn in close to her chest. Moran's gun was on the ground next to her. She looked so frail, so hurt that for a moment Sherlock's mind sputtered to a halt, unsure of what to do before his heart took over. He stepped around Moran and crouched in front of her, ignoring the fact that blood was getting on his coat. Instead, minding her obviously hurt arm and shoulder, he cupped her face gently, feeling for a pulse. "Felicity? Can you hear me?" The words rushed out without him realizing as he checked her over. She had a pulse and she was breathing, but those two signs of life were often times misleading. He wanted to see her functioning and alive with his own eyes, right then and there. "Felicity? _Felicity-!" _Sherlock barely resisted the urge to shake her, patting her face in an attempt to rouse her, trying to ignore how ashen her skin felt. After a moment, Felicity's eyes flickered open. The pain from switching the gun from one hand to the other had been so intense that she had almost blacked out before even firing a shot. She'd struggled to hold onto her consciousness even after she'd dropped the gun, her job at signaling the police and Sherlock over.

As Sherlock swam into view, she blinked a few times, trying to force her brain to rationalize. Her first thought was to dismiss his face, so desperate and alive, as a dream. She had to scrap that hypothesis, however, when she could feel his hand on her face, on her neck. When it became clear that he was real, relief washed over Felicity, making her close her eyes and smile, even if the effort was weak. If Sherlock was here, this nightmare was at an end. "Look at me, Felicity, open your eyes!" Sherlock ordered, slipping his free hand into his coat pocket to search for his lock-picking kit. She couldn't pass out yet, not until he knew that she was safe and taken care of. Panic and adrenaline were still snaking through the detective's veins, and he wanted Felicity to be conscious and responsive to soothe that worry.

"_Sherlock!" _John bellowed from across the roof, appearing in the doorway and looking around, Lestrade, Donovan and an EMT behind him.

"Over here!" Sherlock let himself be known as he started on picking the lock on the handcuffs, glancing down at Felicity to make sure that she'd opened her eyes. "Are you alright?" He asked her lowly, getting the cuff off her wrist and gently guiding her arm down to the ground. Felicity watched him work, still dazed from the pain she was in. Everything was moving so slowly, and Sherlock was starting to look hazy. She knew that if her vision was going she should be worried, but the deliciously numbing pain in her nerves destroyed any attempts at her using logic.

"My shoulder hurts…" she trailed off dreamily as John skidded around the corner, Lestrade, Donovan and the EMT not far behind.

"Holy-!" John gasped before he could stop himself, his eyes quickly taking in Moran's body, the blood, and Felicity slumped against the pipe, looking faint. He went to step forward, but Lestrade threw out an arm, stopping him.

"There's a bomb, Watson!" he barked as John seized his wrist, ready to shove the DI out of his way. The two men stared at each other for a moment, Lestrade forcibly calm and John just about ready to rage before he turned to look for himself, starting a bit when he noticed the large bomb sitting next to Felicity. Sherlock had heard Lestrade's cry, but a bomb was the least of his troubles at the moment; nothing could shift his focus with the state that Felicity was in.

"No, that's ok…I defused it…" Felicity said in a garbled sigh, leaning her head against the pipe and closing her eyes. She was tired, so tired, and her arm hurt. Felicity ignored the chorus of 'No!' and 'Look at me!' that erupted from Sherlock as the EMT ducked through and instantly monitored her pulse.

"I'll need backup, quickly." He fired off right away, feeling along her neck and the back of her head, noting how there was a slowly deflating bump from where Felicity's head had been slammed against the bookcase in Moran's attack. She probably had a concussion, and it was highly likely that she had been unconscious and drugged during that time, increasing the danger. Once he deemed her safe to move, he turned to the two men hovering behind him. While Lestrade and Donovan were calling for more help and getting the bomb squad, Sherlock and John were stuck to watch and wait, having nothing to do. "We'll need to move her out over there, away from the body, without jarring her shoulder. If one of you would carry her legs, the other can hold onto her waist, bracing her back on your front." The EMT instructed, quickly realizing that he needed to give some control to the two internally panicking men. He'd worked with Lestrade long enough to catch glimpses of both Sherlock and John and to know who they were and what they were capable of. The medic was also well aware that the two men were family to his patient, and that made everything much worse.

"I'll get her front," John offered automatically, and the EMT took a step back, going over to the bare expanse of space on the rooftop and spreading out a flatboard stretcher so that they could safely transfer Felicity down into the hospital. "Just relax, Felicty," John cautioned, situating her gently sideways, doing his best not to nick her arm. She blinked, still dazed, and tried to twist to see him, but John's hand on her good shoulder held her steady. Everything was blurring, and she couldn't register Sherlock and John moving until they were already someplace different, confusing her. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep, but everyone yelled at her when she did that. "Ready, Sherlock?" John asked once he was in a good position, voice frightfully calm as he glanced up at the detective. Sherlock gave him a hasty nod. John made sure to be gentle as he picked Felicity up by the waist, keeping her back flush with his chest. With Sherlock lifting her legs- her torso and, most importantly, her shoulder and arm, stayed still.

"Why am I moving?" Felicity asked deliriously to nobody in particular, semi aware that she was confused but unable to do anything about it. John and Sherlock sat her down on the stretcher, John holding up her back when Felicity's weak body threatened to collapse, jerking at her shoulder.

"Now, slowly lay her down. It may hurt her a bit, so be steady," the medic cautioned, but John already started the action and was ignoring the EMT anyway. John knew what he was doing and was going to use his knowledge as a doctor in any way he could to make his daughter comfortable.

"Felicity, take your good hand and hold onto Sherlock for me, ok? And look at him, look right into his eyes." John told Felicity as she turned to look at him again, still confused. "He's over there," John directed, biting down worry as much as he could, for the sake of the situation. Felicity looked the other way, blinking a few times as Sherlock swam back into view. He extended his hand, his fingers trembling despite himself, and Felicity took it, letting his large hand still encase her smaller one in a firm grip. Without another word, John put pressure on her lower back; making Felicity lay down with a gasp and then a muffled groan of pain, her eyes rolling up into her head briefly. "Good, good job, Felicity." John said absentmindedly, looking up to field the questions coming in as a full team of EMT's crossed the rooftop.

"It hurts, Charley," Felicity groaned, her head rolling slightly as her body tried to process the pain and failed. Sherlock's heart clenched painfully at the mistake Felicity had made in her weakened state. He rubbed the top of her hand soothingly as an EMT flipped that arm over and briskly gave her an IV as two others fit a stretcher underneath the flatboard.

"I know, Fee. I know; it'll all be over soon." Sherlock told her, unable to keep his voice steady as the worker at her IV hooked her up to some general fluids before giving her two shots- one for pain and one as a sedative. It was a relief to see them taking affect right away (anything to ease Felicity's pain at that point was more than welcome to Sherlock), but seeing her relax all at once also terrified him, even though an EMT had hooked up a heart monitor and he could hear proof that she was alive. The way she went limp reminded him strongly of a corpse and he didn't like it.

Sherlock and John had to let the EMT's go first with Felicity to fit into the small hallway and lift to take them back down into the hospital so that she could be treated. By that time, the bomb squad had arrived and after meticulously documenting the state they found the bomb in, they safely disassembled it. Moran's body was also documented before taking it down to the morgue. Lestrade's officers searched the entire rooftop for clues and evidence Sherlock would want later as the man himself, along with John, waited impatiently for Felicity to have her shoulder x-rayed. It took almost an hour, making both men very jittery. While the film was being developed, both men sat silently in her room on either side of her bed, neither taking their eyes off of their daughter's drug induced sleep. For that one, terrifying moment in the alley, both men had thought that Felicity was dead. Both would remember the sound of those gunshots, one right after the other as their minds struggled between the natural inclination to find cover and the awful idea that Felicity was being shot. She'd pushed them to hunt down Moran, and because of their unwillingness to leave her they'd hurt her even more. That type of guilt isn't easily gotten rid of, if at all. "Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson?" Another doctor stuck his head around the door, then his body as both detective and doctor stood, wanting to hear the news.

"What did the x-rays show?" John leapt right into it, wishing that he could see the actual film for himself, but doing so would mean that he'd have to leave Felicity and Sherlock, something he was not at all willing to do.

"Her arm was dislocated first, and with a lot of force. You can still see the bruising on her biceps and triceps. The way the shoulder dislocated had the head of her humerus lodged between her scapula and her clavicle bones." The doctor started, and John winced, furious and yet very much aware of how much pain that must have been causing Felicity. "It's my guess that as your daughter used that arm, it lodged her humerus deeper and deeper in between those bones, putting pressure on her clavicle until it broke. Unfortunately, the bone didn't break cleanly. We'll need to do surgery right away to make sure we get out all of the bone fragments. We'll also reset her clavicle and put her arm back in its socket." The doctor informed them, looking in between Sherlock and John.

"Jesus," John muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. The surgery was far from dangerous and was completely necessary, but the idea of Felicity going under the knife frightened him.

"Any other injuries?" Sherlock questioned, voice tense. If Moran wasn't dead, Sherlock wouldn't have been able to control himself from leaving and not coming back until the man responsible for his daughter's pain was dead. Without something to focus his emotions on, Sherlock was boiling in a sea of confusion, fear and anger.

"We can tell that she had quite the bump on the head, but there was no bleeding, internal or external and if she did have a concussion there's nothing we can do at this point. Her toxicology report showed a hefty dose of lorazepam in her system and she was most likely unconscious for a long time. Other than that, she had a multitude of defensive wounds, but nothing serious." The doctor summed up, flipping briefly through the chart he was carrying.

"How soon will she go into surgery?" John asked, checking his watch briefly.

"We're waiting for her sedative to wear off a bit more. Someone will come in about twenty minutes to have her prepped for surgery." The doctor flashed them both a brief smile before ducking out. It took John a moment to calm himself before heading back over to Felicity with a sigh, smoothing the hair from her face. Sherlock joined him a moment later, taking Felicity's hand gently and rubbing her tiny knuckles with his thumb.

"Never again, Sherlock. Never again." John swore quietly yet with a military style firmness that wasn't to be argued with. He sat slowly, pulling his hand away from Felicity's hair to rub his face tiredly. Seconds later, Sherlock's heart leapt into his throat as Felicity stirred from the loss of contact.

"Felicity? Can you hear me?"

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Drama drama drama! I am a drama llama! Who makes dioramas! Ok, but, in all seriousness, Felicity's safe. That's all you cared about, right? Things will start winding down now- but there are still plenty of loose ends to be tied up. What happened to John and Sherlock's relationship? What about Mummy Holmes? How will Felicity heal from her ordeal? What will they do with their lives now that their biggest threat is vanquished? ... All will be revealed, young grasshoppers. **

**Is it wrong that I giggled when reading your reviews? Cause I did. A lot.**

**louisuperwholocked is the best and most understanding beta I've ever had. Thank you, dearest.**


	23. Chapter 23

Everything was warm.

Everything was slow.

Everything was numb, and Felicity was very confused. Pictures were flashing through her mind- a puddle of blood, a blond head, dog-tags, a gun, the wool of John's jumper, and the pale, distraught face of Sherlock. None of it made sense, not even the sensations she was feeling in the present. There was a cool, bony hand holding hers protectively, rubbing her knuckles. A warmer, more calloused hand was softly stroking hair from her face. When it disappeared, the soothing sensation it had produced also disappeared, making Felicity panic for some reason. She wanted to leap up and find the source, but every limb in her body was heavy and her mind was tired. She stirred instead, hoping to find the nice hand again to make everything better. "Felicity? Can you hear me?" The deep baritone of Sherlock Holmes suddenly floated into her senses.

"Sh'lock," she managed, trying to open her eyes. It made her worried that the last time she'd seen Sherlock he'd been so distraught. She wanted to make it better for him, and was slightly panicked that her body was so slow. _Why _was it slow? Drawing upon deep, inner strength, Felicity forced her eyes open. She could tell that she was drugged and that she was in a hospital, but that did nothing to answer her questions.

"It's ok, Felicity. Just stay calm; it's ok, we're here," The comforting hand was back and John was suddenly by her again, off to her right. "You're in the hospital because of your shoulder and arm." John told her, seeing her confusion. Sherlock moved so that he was sitting more within her eyesight and Felicity relaxed a bit. It calmed her to see both of her parents at once, looking, for the moment, alright. She was a bit confused as to why her arm and shoulder were hurt like John had suggested, but she wasn't going to dwell on it. John said she was safe- and with her doctor and her detective by her side, Felicity knew she was.

"You—al'ight?" Felicity was horrified internally that she slurred those words, but she was still fighting a sedative after all. John looked pained by her question and Sherlock seized her hand and gave it a gentle kiss, his expression helpless.

"We're fine, Felicity. You're going to go into surgery to fix your arm and shoulder and then we're going home, ok?" John told her when the lump in Sherlock's throat was too big for the detective to talk around.

"Mmkay. Tired." Felicity told him, pleased in her fuzzy mind that things were somewhat in order. Someone let out a hoarse, choked laugh and she felt another kiss pressing against her knuckles. The laugh had come from Sherlock as he hopelessly tried to burn off some tension. For someone who seemed so above emotion, Sherlock Holmes let it control him at the worst of times.

"That's fine, honey. Rest." John told her, seeing that his lover was completely unable to speak. John needn't have bothered; as soon as Felicity confessed her exhaustion she'd drifted off again. "Are you alright?" John asked Sherlock, reaching over Felicity to take the detective's other hand and give it a good squeeze.

"I-yes," Sherlock managed. After a moment, he realized he was lying. He was keeping his emotions hidden, as he had warned Felicity not to. "No, no, John, I'm not alright." Sherlock revised, unable to meet John's gaze.

"Tell me what's wrong," John told him softly, not relinquishing his grip on Sherlock's hand.

"I-my-I hold myself above my emotions for a reason, John. When they control me I'm helpless. I can't do anything for Felicity and it hurts." Sherlock forced his emotions into words, closing his eyes and sucking in a fast breath as he fought for control. John got up, pulled Sherlock to his feet wordlessly, and hugged the detective. The comfort it brought helped to calm Sherlock down, so he returned the gesture.

"I feel the same way, Sherlock. I'm a doctor and I can't even help my own daughter when she's hurt. But there is something we can do," John told him, pulling away to make eye contact to drive his point home, "we can be here for Felicity when she wakes up. We can continue to support her and be a family. She _will _recover and we _will _move forward from this, ok?" John told him, and just like that the synapses in Sherlock's brain started firing.

"Yes, of course. We need to organize, be prepared, tie up loose ends-" Sherlock pressed a brief, feverish kiss to John's lips; pulling away to spout more ideas when there was a knock on the door. Both men stepped away from each other as Felicity's doctor returned, along with two nurses.

"It's time for her to go into surgery; it's time to say your goodbyes." The doctor said, and Sherlock immediately leaned over to plant a gentle kiss to Felicity's forehead. John followed suit, a calmness settling in his heart. He still felt horrible that his daughter was going through so much pain on partly his account, but he knew that things would turn out alright. Both doctor and detective stepped out of the way as the nurses wheeled Felicity off to surgery. "We'll be in operating room C, Doctor Watson. I've been told that you have special clearance to observe if you wish." The doctor said, and it took John a moment to contemplate what he'd said. Suddenly, it made sense; of course Mycroft would begin pulling strings. John wouldn't be surprised if the man that was the British Government wasn't outside the door.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll wait here." John said, offering the man a weak smile. He didn't think he could handle watching the surgery. He'd had no trouble observing medical procedures before, but he'd never known the person going in for an operation. John didn't think he could stand watching Felicity go under the knife.

"We'll treat her well. As soon as we're done you two will be the first to know." The doctor told Sherlock and John before ducking out. Not seconds later John's assumption proved true; Mycroft swept in, looking surprisingly ruffled.

"I must offer the deepest of apologies to both of you, and to Felicity." Mycroft started, and John felt his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. Mycroft was _apologizing? _What for? "It was my security team that failed in protecting your flat. If my men had done their jobs correctly, none of this would have happened." Mycroft said sourly, and John realized that he was upset with himself.

"They're all dead, aren't they?" Sherlock asked very quietly, slipping an arm around John's waist, past caring what his brother thought of his relationship with John. Mycroft grimaced at the question.

"Yes, all. Moran was a gifted sniper, very gifted. He rigged up a system that allowed him to kill them all at once." Mycroft admitted. "It is embarrassing to see that my men were so easily defeated. I apologize."

"Mycroft, they were only human. So are you. So was Moran. If we have to assign blame to someone, assign it to him." Sherlock said in an unusually compassionate voice. The Holmes brothers made eye contact and then swiftly looked away from each other. John could have sworn that they were communicating telepathically- in the briefest of moments they had passed a message to each other.

"Yes, well, that aside- I have assigned two guards to Felicity's operating suite and they will accompany her back here and then the three of you back to 221B when she is recovered. They will stay for as long as you wish." Mycroft said, checking his phone briefly when it buzzed.

"Thank you," John said gratefully. Until he or Sherlock received the all clear from Lestrade, John hadn't ruled out a lone survivor from Moriarty's network coming to attack. Even if John was worrying for nothing, the media interest had exploded over Felicity's abduction, increasing the danger of another criminal wanting to take advantage. The guards would ensure them private, safe protection from the outside world until they were ready to move forward.

"Let's hope these two are more professional than your previous guard." Sherlock said artlessly, beginning to tease and be generally rude to Mycroft again now that their silent moment of communication was over. It brightened John's spirits to see Sherlock acting like himself again; seeing him be polite to Mycroft was very odd and unsettling, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

"Indeed. Oh, and Mummy sends her love and concern. She's disappointed that she didn't get to meet Felicity so soon and wishes her the speediest recovery possible." Mycroft said, leaning on his umbrella with more of a gentle smile than a smirk.

"Oh?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. John didn't know why Sherlock seemed so surprised by that, and he was slightly nervous as to why Sherlock's mother expressing concern was seen as such to the detective.

"She's taken quite a fancy to Felicity, despite our unspoken assumption that Mummy is incapable of loving anyone but her sons and her gardens." Mycroft told Sherlock, and Sherlock visibly brightened. Sherlock had hoped that his mother would love Felicity (as Sherlock knew his daughter, he couldn't see how she couldn't) but he had been carrying some doubt. Mummy Holmes was better at reading people than even her own sons and often took umbrage to people for the smallest offenses in personality she saw in them. Despite that, once she enjoyed your company she was a life-long friend or ally with unwavering affection. If Felicity was already in her good books, Sherlock (and Felicity especially) had nothing to fear. Sherlock had done investigating and found out that his mother highly approved of John as well. Sherlock would have pursued his relationship with the doctor regardless of his mother's approval, but it made the detective slightly proud to know that his family liked his relations with John.

"Don't forget the machine gun collection." He reminded Mycroft through a chuckle, the good news managing to lift him higher from his worry about Felicity's surgery.

"Oh, yes, of course." Mycroft agreed mindlessly, checking his phone again with a dissatisfied sigh, ignoring John's confusion and downright worry. "She's insisting that you visit as soon as possible; she's even suggested that you go to the Holmes estate on holiday so she can take Felicity out into the countryside." Mycroft elaborated as he pocketed his phone again, starting to frown.

"Hmm. We'll have to consider it," Sherlock said, tightening his grip just slightly on John's waist as pleasant ideas of a holiday with his lover raced through his mind.

"Excellent, I'll let her know. Now, if you'd excuse me, the ambassador to China has made an egregious error." Mycroft said, sending them a hasty, tight smile before ducking out, phone already in hand once more.

"Machine gun collection?" John repeated as Sherlock pressed a kiss to his temple, his hands fisting around John's jumper.

"Mmm, yes," Sherlock agreed, pressing his face into John's hair with a low sigh before pulling away, sitting limply in his previously vacated chair. "There is still so much that needs to be done." He said to himself, bowing his head and fluffing his hair furiously in an attempt to concentrate. He was interrupted from saying anything more by a knock on the door. Moments later an incredibly large and lethal looking man in a tailored suit ducked around the door.

"There is a Mr. Anderson here on behalf of DI Lestrade. Would you like to see him?" He asked in a flat, professional voice.

"Yeah, of course," John said, more distracted than put off by the idea of seeing Anderson. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the floor but said nothing, and John silently willed him to behave. After a second Anderson appeared, the door closed behind him by the guard. He had a large file folder in hand and looked very out of place.

"I'll get right to the point then, shall I?" He said after clearing his throat, walking over and extending the folder to Sherlock. "This is the report of everything we found on the rooftop and at Moran's flat. Every photograph, piece of evidence, and lead we had is in that folder for you to review. If you say the investigation is closed, Lestrade will close it. He wants your word on it before he makes the final call." Anderson said, and Sherlock accepted the folder, opening it briefly and raising a surprised eyebrow as he scanned the contents. He was oddly pleased that Lestrade had worked so quickly and efficiently.

"Thank you," Sherlock said briskly, attempting to be polite. He closed the folder and looked at Anderson expectantly. He wasn't being his usual rude self, but he wasn't being nice either. Either way, John could tell that Anderson appreciated it.

"One more thing," Anderson said, reaching into his suit coat and pulling out a sealed evidence bag. "This is supposed to be housed on secure lock-down for another two weeks until the investigation is declared officially off the books, but I'm willing to make an exception." Without another word he handed the bag to Sherlock so the detective could take a closer look. Inside the bag, meticulously cleaned and polished, were Felicity's dog-tags. The sight of them made most of Sherlock's previously conceived notions about Anderson change completely. He was breaking rules, at the risk of his own job, to return something of sentimental value to Felicity. Sherlock stood and offered Anderson his hand. Under John's shocked gaze, the two nearly sworn enemies shook hands, letting that action speak louder than any words they wanted to say. "Everyone at the Yard wishes her a speedy recovery." Anderson said, pushing his hands into his pockets a bit awkwardly now that he'd done something so kind.

"Thanks; it means a lot." John saved Sherlock from having to answer and both detective and forensic specialist seemed relieved.

"We'll be in touch," Anderson promised before giving them a sheepish nod and leaving. Sherlock and John stood in silence for a moment before Sherlock broke the seal on the evidence bag and slid the necklace out into his palm to inspect it.

"She called me Charley. Up on the rooftop." Sherlock told John suddenly, still inspection the stamped letters that held no traces of the blood that was previously smeared across them. Sensing John's unanswered question, Sherlock continued, "She was in so much pain, and I was holding her hand, and she mistook me for him." Sherlock searched John's face for answers, but found that his lovers' expression was unusually blank.

John didn't say anything either; all he did was to extend his palm, asking for the tags. Sherlock slid them into his hand, the cool, sterilized metal feeling pleasant on John's warm skin. "It's no wonder she confused you two. You were and are both good men who she loves very much." John offered Sherlock a weak smile as he closed his hand into a fist around the last living testament to Charley Muller. Sherlock blinked furiously at him to disperse tears as the love behind John's words hit home. John was absolutely right, and that brought waves of sentiment crashing down on Sherlock's head to a point that he had almost never felt before. John could have dismissed Felicity's mistake as a hallucination from her delirium and he could have downplayed the whole thing. Instead, he had shown Sherlock his own significance, which not many people had ever done for the detective. "And I love you just as much," John continued, slipping the tags into his pocket and pulling Sherlock down for a slow, passionate kiss.

When they pulled apart, Sherlock felt a muted sense of determination. He needed to review Lestrade's work as well as pursue his own leads to officially declare this disaster over, to know for sure that Moriarty's network of crime really was finished. To do so, he would need to leave the hospital. The idea of doing so twisted at Sherlock's stomach- he didn't want to leave his daughter, especially during a surgery. At the same time, he felt a burning need to go; his own stupidity and lack of action on taking Moran down was what had caused all of this in the first place. He needed to clean up all the loose ends once and for all. There could be no more mistakes. "I need to leave." Sherlock said hollowly, tucking the folder into his coat. "When will Felicity's surgery be finished?" He asked John, and the doctor checked his watch.

"Depending on how severely her arm shattered it could be anywhere from half an hour to two." John said with a wince, remembering his shock at finding out it had taken surgeons three hours to retrieve the bullet from his shoulder and find all the pieces of his shattered scapula.

"I'll be back before then," Sherlock swore, his eyes shining with promise. He pressed one more lingering, burning kiss to John's lips before hurriedly striding from the room, his iPhone already in hand. John paced the room once, twice, three times in Sherlock's absence, free to let his worry out without an audience. He was sorely tempted to watch the surgery; after all, Mycroft had gotten him access. He could probably stand on the operating room floor and pass the surgeon the forceps necessary to pick out bone fragments. He could be allowed to press gauze to the cut wound to soak up his own daughter's blood, if he wanted. John's problem was that he wasn't sure if he wanted to know that much or not. As a doctor and a father, he wanted to be absolutely sure that Felicity's surgery was completed with perfect precision. Part of him wanted to be there to look at the surgical site himself, to know that the procedure was followed to a tee. On the other hand, John wasn't sure how he'd react, and he didn't want to put any unnecessary pressure on the surgeon and his team. He was sure that Mycroft had already threatened the poor surgeon and John didn't want to flip out during the operation and add even more stress to the situation.

In the end, he decided to leave the operating team in peace. Deciding not to leave Felicity's room (a guard would follow him everywhere, even into the loo as John had found out in a past experience), John sat in Sherlock's vacated chair, staring at the dog tags in his hand as he waited for Felicity to be returned for recovery. One hour and thirty minutes later, Sherlock came back in, looking flushed with success. He stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the fact that Felicity wasn't back yet. He was thrilled that he hadn't missed her return, but was also worried that it was taking so long. "How'd it go? Everything squared away?" John asked, slipping the dog tags into his pocket and standing up to receive his lover. Sherlock crossed the room in three strides and planted a firm kiss to John's forehead, rubbing his arms.

"Yes. This is the end of Moriarty and Moran as we know it." He said lowly, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of John's hair. Both men relaxed then, happy that their nightmare was almost over. Before Sherlock could ask John anything else, or vice versa, the door opened and a nurse came in first, walking backwards, guiding in the stretcher that held Felicity. The doctor was on the other end and locked down the wheels as the nurse ran a quick check of all vitals and Felicity's IV before excusing herself.

"How did it go? Any complications?" John fired off right away, dying to know every detail that he hadn't permitted himself to see.

"None. We took our time in an effort to be as accurate as possible and it paid off immensely. All broken or dislocated bones were reset and we removed all of the bone fragments that were piercing her muscles. That area will take at least a month to heal and physical therapy will be necessary for another three, but there should be no lingering problems besides occasional soreness." The doctor summarized quickly, clasping his hands in front of him. John breathed a sigh of relief. There was of course a low risk of infection, but other than that Felicity was out of any more danger. All she needed to do now was heal.

"Thank you, for everything," John said, giving him his hand to shake. Both he and Sherlock shook hands with the doctor before they were left in peace with Felicity. A large bandage covered the top of her shoulder and her clavicle, and her arm was done up in a tight sling to keep the area still. Overall, Felicity looked very white and very clean, the bright hospital lights making her already pale complexion and the cream bedspread an unearthly white. John instantly went to find the dimmer switch, knowing first-hand how bright the world seemed when waking up from being unconscious. With that taken care of and the door being meticulously manned by the guards out front, Sherlock and John were able to relax in the chairs at Felicity's bedside, waiting for her to wake.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: See? It's all going to be okay. :) We've got Mummy in the picture, the Holmes brothers being civil with each other, Johnlock goodness, Nice!Anderson, and a nice finish to this story heading your way. They'll be a minor bump in the road, but everyone will make it safe and sound. (I actually hate writing endings, especially nice ones, the sadist that I am, so I have to remind myself that I'm writing such fluff. Weird, I know. Shut up.)**

**Reviews are joy- it's like the spirit of the holidays compressed into text. So thank you!**

**louisuperwholocked is awesome, just saying. Find her on Tumblr. She's the best beta ever.**


	24. Chapter 24

"_Ah ah ah! Be careful what you do next," Sebastian Moran was speaking to her in Moriarty's voice. He had a fistful of Sherlock's lapels and was holding him on the very edge of the rooftop of St. Bart's. One push and he was dead. Sherlock's toes kept sliding on the edge, the surface too slippery to get a good grip on. Felicity felt a pang of fear; Sherlock was __**crying, **__and he never cried, not ever. In Moran's other hand was a gun, a gun that was pointed at John a few meters away. There was blood on the faces of both men, fresh, still dripping blood. _

"_Please, stop this. Take me instead!" Felicity heard herself beg, and Moran giggled._

"_No, no! You have to make a choice between the two. Which one dies, Felicity? Tick tock, time to pick onneee" he sang, loading the gun with a foreboding click. _

"_Felicity, pick me. It'll be ok- you and Sherlock will be-," John started._

"_Felicity, pick me. J-John can take care of you. It'll be ok." Sherlock cut across him, voice shaking as his eyes flicked to his lover. _

"_Aww, how sweet! Look at them, throwing themselves at death's door, just for you. They're making it easy for you- at least they aren't begging. Yet." Moran/Moriarty smirked, giving Sherlock a tantalizing shake. Suddenly, someone burst out onto the rooftop. _

"_Fee! __**FEE!?**__" The voice yelled, and Felicity whirled to look, hope rising in her chest, only to explode in sadness as Charley ran across the rooftop towards her. He was dressed in his uniform, looked as if he could be on the frontline. He was clearly panicked for her safety. Felicity just stared at him- he was alive, he wasn't dead after all, she could hug him and stay with him and- Seconds later, a gunshot pierced the air and Charley Muller sprawled to the rooftop, dead. A second gunshot rang out and John Watson fell to join him._

"_Look at me, Felicity…" Moran sang, and Felicity somehow found herself turning away from the bodies of John and Charley. Moran was gone. In his place was a man in a well-tailored suit with the coldest eyes Felicity had ever seen. He smiled at her and let go of Sherlock's coat. The detective fluttered off the edge and out of sight as Moriarty crossed the rooftop to stand in front of her. He took her chin, leaning over a bit to stare right into her eyes. The muzzle of the gun pushed to her temple. "Revenge is sweet." He breathed, and then—_

With a gasp that mingled with a scream, Felicity suddenly found herself jerking awake, struggling to sit up in a hospital bed. Her mind still felt hazy, still felt drugged, but it was racing with panic and the images from her extremely vivid dream. It took her a moment to realize that John and Sherlock were on either side of her, trying to calm her down. "Felicity, it's ok, it's alright," John was saying anxiously, patting her knee and silently shooing a nurse that appeared in the doorway. She left. Sherlock's hand was holding hers tight, his eyes roaming over her face with silent worry. Only then did Felicity realize how she was gasping for breath, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. "Here, lie back." John instructed softly, propping up her pillows and helping her recline properly. Felicity took a moment to just look at both of them, trying to get her heart rate and breathing back to normal as she returned the pressure of Sherlock's grip. "Felicity? You ok?" John asked her, watching her carefully with a doctor's eye as well as a father's. The panic he saw in her eyes worried him, made his heart twist.

"It was just a dream." Felicity managed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "Just a dream," she reassured herself, relaxing a bit when John kissed her forehead. "And you're both ok?" She continued, opening her eyes to look back and forth between her Dads.

"Yes," Sherlock affirmed softly, still watching her closely, as if he was deducing her dream just by looking at her. Felicity could still picture him falling off the edge and she shivered. "And you? How do you feel?" He asked, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. Felicity pondered his question, looking down at herself for evidence besides her still racing emotions. She didn't feel so dizzy anymore, like she had on the rooftop, and the medicine in her IV was keeping her relatively numb. There was a single bandage around the wrist of her hand that Sherlock was holding, and she knew instantly it was from the handcuff. Her head didn't throb anymore. Other than her obviously hurt arm and shoulder, she was alright physically. However, if her dream proved anything, she was damaged emotionally and mentally, and those wounds would take time to heal.

"I can't feel much of anything, so I think I'm ok," Felicity said, peeking at her sling with increasing curiosity. She was curious to know what had been done to fix her shoulder and how much damage had been caused.

"I know this might be hard for you, Felicity, but- John and I want to know what happened to you. We want to make sure you're alright." Sherlock was still speaking in such a soft voice that Felicity's worry for him shot up exponentially. What had happened between the distraught face from her memory and now? She had no recollection of the brief moment she woke up before surgery, so the last thing she remembered Sherlock doing was finding her on the rooftop, and even that memory was hazy. Her thoughts, having turned to the rooftop, got steadily darker and Felicity inhaled slowly, working to stay calm.

"If it's too soon, we can wait." John said firmly, stroking her hair, and Felicity felt herself smile a bit. He and Sherlock really did balance themselves out perfectly. When Sherlock was pushy John was patient. When John was careful Sherlock was dangerous. When they were together and with Felicity, the world felt right to her; she felt safe.

"No, I'm ok. It's just…the dream I was having." Felicity murmured, deciding to get that out of her head first. The idea of everyone she loved dying in front of her was still terrifying her more than her experience with Moran had. Sherlock's expression hardened. "We were on top of St. Bart's, and Moran was there. He had you at gunpoint," her gaze flickered briefly to John, "and he was holding you over the edge of the roof." Felicity glanced once at Sherlock before taking a shaky breath to calm herself. Admitting that alone was terrifying because the dream was still so fresh in her mind. John had inhaled sharply when Felicity told them about her dream-Sherlock; the idea of seeing Sherlock on a rooftop edge was an idea that he could sympathize with completely. Sherlock, on the other hand, hated the mental image of John staring down a gun, defenseless. However, both men couldn't stand the idea of Felicity dreaming about that kind of thing, especially because there was nothing they could do about it. "He told me that I had to pick which one of you was to die." Felicity whispered, her grip clenching around Sherlock's.

"And then?" John asked, his voice barely calm as he kept a firm grip on her knee. He wanted to hug the life out of her, but he would press against her sling and only hurt Felicity. It upset him- John always embraced her when she was struggling, and he couldn't do that for another month or so until her shoulder and clavicle healed.

Felicity took another breath before answering. Crying might get rid of the lump in her throat, but it wouldn't help her share the story and get it off her chest. _It was just a dream._ She told herself again, trying to drill the fact into her mind. "Someone called my name, and I turned to see and—it was Charley." Felicity spoke haltingly, trying to speak only in an even tone. "He was wearing his uniform, like he'd just come home. Then Moran shot him."

Silence spread through the room as Felicity closed her eyes, tears leaking out from her eyelashes and streaming down her face. The dream had been so remarkably vivid that she could replace the rooftop of St. Bart's with a background of the Middle East to picture how her brother had been killed. John got up and pressed a kiss to Felicity's temple, very gently hugging her, smoothing her hair. "I'm sorry." John said softly, mad inside that all he could do was stroke her hair and say nice words. If he could, he would hunt down Moran and make him wish that the doctor was only as cruel as Moriarty.

"Then he shot you, John, and he let you go, Sherlock- you fell off the roof." Felicity shared, her voice getting more upset despite her efforts to stay calm. She could still picture the blood on John's jumper and the brief flutter of Sherlock's coat and the smallest glimpse she got of his eyes before he fell. Sherlock flinched slightly at Felicity's retelling of what had happened to him in her dream. Falling once had been traumatizing enough, and he had been glad that Felicity hadn't been in London to see it happen. He'd felt better knowing that she hadn't actually seen him fall, and now she had. It wasn't the same thing, but it distressed him nonetheless, especially because he had very little control over Felicity's subconscious. "And then Moran was gone," Felicity told, sounding slightly horrified now. "There was a man there in his place that was wearing a fancy suit. His eyes were black. I think- no, I know that it was Moriarty." Felicity said, and her Dads looked at her in surprise. Felicity had never seen Moriarty and yet she had described him, dreamed of him in a fairly accurate manner.

"What then?" John asked, reaching up to gently wipe any remaining moisture off her cheeks. Felicity sighed with a bit of a frown thrown in as she looked up to meet Sherlock and John's gaze.

"He shot me and I woke up." Felicity said almost dismissively, shifting a bit against her pillow to take strain off her shoulder. Sherlock's grip on her hand got almost uncomfortably tight as he thought about someone, not just Moriarty, shooting his daughter. "But it was just a dream. You're both alright." Felicity repeated, smiling weakly and returning the pressure on Sherlock's hand until he lessened his grip.

"And what happened on the rooftop?" Sherlock asked, seeking distraction. He wanted to know everything so that he could process all of the data at once. That way, less emotion got into the deduction. With Sherlock and John by her side, Felicity started her version of the events that occurred up on the rooftop. Her Dads were horrified to know that Moran had been so psychotic- enough to imagine Moriarty being there, enough to mimic his voice without realizing. To make matters worse, Felicity's logic was what had caused Moran to shoot himself, leaving Felicity up there all alone with a body in front of her, blood soaking into her clothes. Felicity was absolutely horrified that her actions had led to another person's death, even if that person was Sebastian Moran. When Felicity reached the part about throwing Charley's dog tags over the edge of the roof, John instantly reached into his pocket and withdrew the shiny tags, making Felicity gasp.

"I thought I'd lost them," She said, letting go of Sherlock's hand only to receive the tags, carefully running over the stamped metal with her fingers. No trace of the blood that she'd accidentally smeared on them remained- they looked just as nice the day she'd gotten them at Charley's funeral. Felicity felt herself relax fully then. She had lost everyone she cared about in her dream and she'd gained them all back in one way or another just by waking up. "Will you help me?" She asked, handing them back out to her Dads. John propped her up and held her with a steady hand on her back as Sherlock slipped the tags back around her neck to rest over her sling and her heart.

"Much better," Sherlock said approvingly, kissing her cheek, making Felicity smile.

"I suppose you should see your doctor so that we can get you cleared as soon as possible, hmm? Healing at Baker Street will be better than here," John said, standing up and rotating his shoulder with a slight wince. For some reason, the idea of knowing that Felicity had hurt the same shoulder as well was making his act up.

"Why can't you do it?" Felicity asked, wrinkling her nose, and John laughed.

"Because I'm a Dad right now, not a doctor. I'll be right back, I promise." He insisted, ducking out of the room.

"Are you still feeling alright?" Sherlock asked Felicity, surveying her IV and sling, looking for clues of discomfort.

"I'm fine, Sherlock, really. It's over, isn't it?" Felicity asked, the question half rhetorical and half serious.

"It will be shortly. I needed to hear your version of the story before I could tell Lestrade to officially close the case." Sherlock informed her, mindlessly running the IV tube between his fingers. He hated hospitals and hated them even more when his loved ones were dependent on their services. The sooner he could get Felicity home the better he'd feel.

"Did he visit?" Felicity asked, looking around the room for a clock or a sign that time had been passing.

"No, he was finishing the case. We've managed to close it in two days," Sherlock revealed that she'd only been there two days, making her relax. The police had come very early in the morning, she remembered, so it wasn't as if she'd been in the hospital for weeks, unresponsive and in surgery. It was hard for her to grasp that it'd been such a short amount of time since she'd been rescued; time had passed so slowly on the rooftop and drugs had confused her mind. "However, Mycroft visited briefly." Sherlock said, changing the subject to take her mind off of 'the case' itself.

"Really?" Felicity perked up right away, wishing that she'd been conscious to say hello. Both Sherlock and John were brilliant in their own ways, that was true, but Mycroft seemed much more wise and intellectual to Felicity, possibly because Sherlock acted like such a child around him. Mycroft reminded her faintly of her father, someone to learn from. Having tea with him was one of her favorite social activities (besides making cookies with Mrs. Hudson).

"Yes…and he had the most interesting news." Sherlock said, suddenly remembering that Mycroft had mentioned his Mummy and her desire to meet Felicity as soon as possible. If that didn't cheer up Felicity, nothing could. Felicity bit her lip slightly as she stared at Sherlock, trying to figure it out without being told. Sherlock felt his lips twitch up in amusement as he stared back, willing himself to give nothing away as Felicity wracked her brains, trying to think past a bit of exhaustion, a bit of fear from her dream that remained, and the drugs still loose in her system. Most of her evidence would come from Mycroft, but she hadn't seen him. It would be foolish to try and get data from Sherlock- he had obviously been at the hospital or working 'the case' this entire time without going home or changing or resting and tidying up his appearance. She'd gain nothing from his expression or clothes or even his mannerisms; they were still focused on her. With those options limited, she had to think back to things that had occurred before her abduction and Moran's attack. Before she could answer, John ducked back in, talking with an older man in a white lab coat- her doctor.

From one look Felicity knew that his first daughter had recently gotten married, he had built a gazebo in the garden he and his wife worked on recently, he had an affinity for cream bismarks, and he had a lot of experience as a doctor. With that in mind, she had no problems letting him ease off her sling to take a look at the bandages beneath. It hurt a bit, but once she held her arm still she was fine. The examination took about fifteen minutes, and Felicity spent most of it working over the puzzle Sherlock had given her, leaving her Dads to ask most of the questions. Felicity wasn't even paying attention when the doctor eased her sling back on with all the gentleness in the world because she'd just figured out what was behind Sherlock's cryptic hint. "Are you feeling alright then, Ms. Watson-Holmes?" The doctor asked her at almost the same time she blurted out: "It's your _MUM!" _

When John finally stopped laughing, he assured the doctor that it had nothing to do with his Mum and that they were very grateful for his help (and his signature on the discharge papers). Sherlock was still laughing when he got back. Felicity was giggling in short bursts- it felt good to laugh but it also jarred at her shoulder a bit, irritating the surgical site.

"Do I even want to know?" John asked, watching his family giggle with a smile on his face. If Felicity wasn't dwelling on the attack then he was happy.

"I gave Felicity a puzzle to solve, and she did." Sherlock explained through a chuckle.

"Oh, about your Mum wanting to meet her?" John put together, and Felicity's face lit up, her giggles dying away.

"She wants to meet me still? Now?" She asked, her mind running with possibilities. Mummy Holmes was just a silhouette to her, and Felicity was eager to see a face, to discover a personality. Felicity loved meeting new people, especially when they were important to her friends and loved ones.

"No, not until you've healed a bit. Ready to go home?" John said, catching Sherlock's eye briefly. His look said, '_We still have to talk about the machine gun collection'. _Felicity watched it curiously, unsure of the true meaning.

"Yes," she affirmed, and John set to work, sending Sherlock off to get a wheel chair. When the detective had been away to wrap up the case, he'd stopped very briefly at 221B only to get Felicity a pair of clothes, something comfortable to be in instead of the hospital gown. John took out Felicity's IV and helped her into the garments, being exceedingly careful with her shoulder. By that time, Sherlock had returned and swooped her up, placing her into the chair. After an eventful ride out to a private car from Mycroft (Felicity made one of the guards crack a smile and made the others snigger), they were speeding off to Baker Street, Felicity curled up on John's lap. She'd been cheerful leaving the hospital but as their ride through the city progressed she became more and more tired, starting to feel the effects of her surgery and her medication. By the time they were pulling up at the flat her forehead was resting on John's neck, her breathing slow and regular. He was holding her up with an arm around her shoulders so that her own hurt shoulder wouldn't contract in her relaxed state.

Sherlock let the guards get the door and John carried Felicity gently up the stairs and into the flat, Sherlock hovering right behind, worried about his lover's old bullet wound. Sherlock pulled back the covers on their bed and John tucked their daughter in. "It's finally over now," John said softly as the two of them watched Felicity rest easily. Sherlock wrapped a long arm around John's waist.

"Not if we do what she wants," Sherlock disagreed, and John looked at him curiously. An issue had been weighing on Sherlock's mind since Felicity had insisted that she wanted the two of them to keep solving cases. He wanted to solve cases, and he wanted to spend that time and love with John, but the idea of Felicity possibly becoming collateral damages ever again scared him. Would he really be selfish enough to continue with his clearly dangerous profession when it would risk hurting the people he deeply cared about? The old, more sociopathic Sherlock wouldn't have even thought of how his actions affected others, but Sherlock had changed quite a bit since meeting John and then Felicity. He wasn't sure what mattered most to him and what _should _matter most to him. If he liked his job more, was that a bad thing? If he liked his family more was _that _a bad thing? All Sherlock had ever been solid doing was his work and now he was in uncharted territory. He didn't know what to think. And, furthermore, should he discourage Felicity from becoming a detective? She was already well on her way and clearly enjoyed it, but Sherlock, like any parent, was worried. "If we continue to solve crimes, John, there is always a chance of collateral damages." Sherlock summed up all of that worry and anxiousness into one sentence (he had a habit of doing that, but, luckily, John was a pro at looking for deeper meaning).

"You're worried about her getting hurt again," John pieced together, looking up at Sherlock who was purposefully avoiding his gaze.

"I'm worried about Felicity, you, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade- oh, and god forbid, _Mycroft. _I'm caring John, and it's not an advantage."

"Sherlock bloody Holmes you listen to me," John said with a sudden firmness, standing in front of the detective and grasping him by the elbows to hold his attention. "You are you. You have to do what makes you happy. There's no telling where you'll end up when you do that, and that's a scary thought, but you find people along the way who go the same direction you do. You've already found all the people you just mentioned and that's a good thing. Keep following what feels good and what really matters will always be safe. Ok?" John asked. Sherlock blinked at him, half overwhelmed by John's wisdom and half confused by his metaphor.

"I am I." Sherlock repeated with another blink and the beginnings of a frown. John's words had made him realize what he wanted, but he didn't understand how he'd gotten there and wanted to. However, he soon found that it didn't matter.

"You are _you." _John affirmed, stretching up and pressing his lips to his.

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: What's going to happen? Will Sherlock give up solving cases in order to protect his family? When will Felicity meet Mummy? You'll find out...IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! Things are rapidly finishing up- there's only one more chapter to go! ****I hope all of my American readers had a good Thanksgiving, by the way! I hoped to improve your holidays with fluff. I hope it worked.**

**You've only got one more shot to review, so why not do it now? :D**

**louisuperwholocked is the best Tumblr friend and beta that I have ever had/known and she is fucking amazing. **


	25. Chapter 25

In the days that followed, Felicity healed rapidly. The physical trauma her body had endured was so slight compared to any lasting mental damage surrounding Charley's death and Felicity's dream about Sherlock and John dying that her hurt shoulder hardly bothered Felicity. The pain medication she was given kept her alert while erasing the majority of the pain, allowing her to spend her days on the couch, either watching telly with her Dads or listening to one play the violin while the other typed out his blog. Mrs. Hudson or Molly visited often to help Felicity bathe and change (Sherlock and John may have been Felicity's guardians, but they were not about to go down that road, regardless of the fact that John was a doctor), and the constant company and happiness around Felicity made her feel better. She deleted the dream from her mind-skyscraper and instead focused on something she could control.

Such as… her guardians.

During their time cooped up in the flat before the Moran fiasco as well as now, she could see the tension in them. Felicity was young, but she wasn't stupid. She could see how they were dying to plaster each other to the walls and kiss; she found it incredibly endearing, so much so that she had to fight down giggles whenever she caught them eyeing each other. She started to push to be allowed to visit Mrs. Hudson more often and for longer and pushed to meet and stay with the famous Mummy Holmes as soon as possible. Sherlock and John had given up a lot to take care of her and she wanted to return the favor by giving them the alone time they so desperately wanted. Her hypersensitivity to her guardians had revealed something else to her- both were hiding something.

One night, when John had been asleep and Felicity had been dozing on him in front of the telly, Sherlock had come home almost silently, but Felicity, even half asleep, could tell that his footsteps held excitement. When he'd gone to shut off the telly, She had seen a small box in his hand in the light from the telly, and Felicity knew exactly what that box was for. In comparison, on a day where Sherlock was sawing at his violin and Felicity was coming down the stairs from getting a book from her room, she'd nearly bumped into John in the hallway. He'd clearly been hurrying to get to his room after coming home from a shift at the clinic and he'd clutched his bag so tightly to his chest that Felicity had doubted that even Sherlock could get it off him to get what was so obviously inside- a wedding ring. Felicity had only winked at John and had sauntered back out into the living room with her book, just barely resisting the urge to hum 'Here Comes the Bride'.

Felicity wasn't sure when either man would propose and who would beat who to the punch, but the idea that her guardians were going to marry kept her very happy through the monotonous boredom of healing. Finally, after about two weeks of healing, Sherlock and John sat her down to ask if she felt up to going into the country to meet Mummy Holmes. Sherlock had barely asked the question before Felicity had given him an empathetic "YES!" so in no time at all their whole family was packing to go and visit the Holmes Estate. Felicity could only gather things with her left hand (John, having had a similar injury, refused for her to use her right arm in any manner) and John packed them for her, but that was hardly the point. She was going to meet _Mummy. _The idea that she had grandmothers again made Felicity giddy. Mrs. Hudson was obviously her first grandmother, but Mummy would take the spot as her second and it made Felicity happy to see her previously broken family tree coming back together.

After lots of packing, a bit of bickering between Sherlock and John ("No, Sherlock, you cannot bring a _liver _with us; for god's sake!") and a lot of excitement on Felicity's part, they were finally ready to go. Felicity had done a bit of snooping and could confirm that both men were bringing their engagement rings for the other and they both remained blissfully unaware that the other wanted to pop the same question. Mycroft's car came around as usual and once the security guards had loaded up their luggage Felicity bounced into the backseat, ignoring John's cautions to be careful with her sling. She really wanted to get in first so that Sherlock and John could sit next to each other; she could care less if it hurt a little bit along the way. It turned out that the Holmes Estate was in Wales, buried in the countryside, so the drive was long but relaxing. Once they got onto country roads they rolled down a few windows and let in the breeze. Felicity, unable to help herself, chattered the whole time about meeting Mummy and exploring the grounds and picnics and science and everything she and Mummy could do together. A lot of it was just to burn off anxious energy, but she made a point to talk about spending more time with Mummy than with Sherlock and John, making it clear (even if it was a subliminal message) that the two men would be free to do as they pleased.

Eventually, the Holmes Estate became visible upon the horizon. The front drive was gated but the rest of the grounds were not, allowing spectacular views along with privacy. The gate and fence were made from wrought iron and although their architecture suggested that they were from another time period, the iron still shone as black and as strong as the day it was made. The driveway was made from a pristine white gravel and the lawn was impeccably kept. Towering trees dotted the drive until it reached a large circle. In the middle there was a large and beautiful garden with all sorts of flowers. The circle stopped at a set of great stone steps that led up to the mansion itself. The front had tall columns that rose up to meet with the roof, and they broke up the red brick façade of the estate. Small additions of the same with stone that made the stairs and the columns added sophisticated touches to the style of the house. However, the only thing Felicity could stare at was the woman waiting on the steps.

She could tell that she was tall for a woman, maybe six feet tall, with the same elegant frame as Sherlock. She had slightly different features and silvery blond hair instead of Sherlock's dark brown, but it was obvious that she was his mother- her cheekbones were more than just reminiscent of the detective's. She was wearing a white dress that wrapped around her and looked more like a member of the royal family than she did Sherlock's mother. Almost as soon as the car had stopped Felicity was opening the car door before the guard could and was bouncing up the steps to meet Mummy Holmes. "Hi, I'm Felicity it's so nice to meet you!" Felicity burst out, smiling hugely as she offered her hand out of politeness. The slightly austere look fell off Mummy's face at Sherlock's expression in the background (a mix of amusement and worry) before she crouched and hugged her new granddaughter, laughing when Felicity managed to hug her enthusiastically even with just one arm.

"The pleasure, dear, is all mine," Mummy told her when they pulled apart, a warm smile on her face. "I was so sorry to hear of your ordeal- how are you improving?" She asked, examining Felicity in a way similar to Sherlock except this time it was a motherly instinct, not a curious one.

"I'm healing so quickly it's boring to wait for everything to be alright again. John is overly cautious about the whole thing," Felicity sighed, shooting John a mischievous grin when he huffed at her as he and Sherlock ascended the stairs, hand in hand. Sherlock had not made it a secret to his mother that he was involved with John (to the contrary, he asked her advice on getting a ring), but John was still incredibly nervous about meeting Sherlock's family and embarrassed for when the time came for Sherlock to meet his. Sherlock was always so graceful and elegant, and it was clear that his mother was too- whereas John always felt the tiniest bit stupid and uncoordinated. It didn't help his nerves.

"This must be John Watson. A pleasure to meet you at last, Doctor," Mummy Holmes told him warmly, and they shook hands, John's anxiousness instantly disappearing with her acceptance. "Why don't we head inside for tea, hmm?" She asked Felicity, who instantly took her hand and walked in with her first, chattering excitedly about her beautiful house and how she'd dreamed about meeting her and topics that a girl like herself probably shouldn't find interesting. Past the front doors lay a large foyer, with marble stone and walls. It had large windows to let in the light, creating the feeling of lots of space. Beyond that lay a large hallway that was paneled in wood. Paintings and statues lined the walls as they passed, and John started to feel more and more poor by the second.

"Sherlock," John got his attention in an undertone while Felicity talked with Mummy about the Rembrandt painting a few feet ahead of them, "I didn't expect-," He struggled to find the right words to say and Sherlock, after a moment, kissed him into silence.

"It's alright, John. My parents have always insisted on a luxurious existence, much more than I ever have. Do not feel like a stranger here- this house is as much yours as it is mine." The detective insisted when he pulled away. John looked into his eyes a moment, finding comfort and reassurance there. With that in mind, he kissed the tip of Sherlock's elegant nose before tugging him along. Mummy and Felicity had disappeared, but they could easily hear Felicity's voice from the parlor down the hall. Knowing exactly where they had gone and knowing that at this point, Felicity and Mummy would be focused on each other and not himself and John, Sherlock tugged him back so that their chests were touching. Before John could protest, Sherlock kissed him again, letting go of John's hand only to rest it on his hip. He allowed the hand to sink lower, cupping John's arse gently.

"Sh'lock-!" John went to protest, but cut himself off with a barely muffled moan of appreciation when Sherlock squeezed the flesh in his hand. "Sherlock-_your mother _is right over there, with _Felicity_!" John hissed in a whisper, having finally got his head on straight. He untangled himself from Sherlock's hands, holding them by the wrists so that he could keep track of them. Sherlock had an odd way of making him forget common sense, and he wanted to make a good impression on his mother. "You know I want to, but _later. _Behave," he told Sherlock's pouting face, finding it much harder than usual to say 'no' to the detective. He took a deep breath, and then let it out. "Ready?" he asked Sherlock, who offered him a sly grin.

"You're in control here, John." He said in a ridiculously low voice that made John want to lean right over and kiss him senseless. He quickly released Sherlock's hands, blushing furiously.

"Don't you- start that. Manipulative little- ugh," John sighed, kissing Sherlock's forehead. "Now _come on," _he ordered, weaving his fingers through Sherlock's again and pulling him towards the parlor.

"Is that so?" Mummy was asking Felicity as they entered. The room was carpeted in a plush burgundy, with wallpapered walls that had a Victorian feel. The large windows let in lots of light, revealing that Mummy and Felicity were already seated in armchairs that were arranged around a low coffee table that held a tea tray with some biscuits and the nicest china John had ever seen. The view out of the windows was spectacular- they looked out over the grounds of the Holmes Estate. "That _is_ an interesting development." Mummy told her, the smile in her eyes apparent as she glanced up at her son and his lover's entrance.

"There you are," Felicity commented, carefully sipping her tea one-handedly. "Distracted by the Rembrandt, were you?" She added playfully, and John flushed darker, if possible.

"The Monet, actually." Sherlock announced, bringing John over to a loveseat off to Felicity's right he prepared cups of tea for the both of them while John looked about the room. It was full of bookshelves, and there was a huge oak desk off in the corner that had a strong reading light and not much else.

"How atrocious of you, Sherlock, to outwardly lie to your Mother and your daughter." Mummy said with amusement and just as much sarcasm as Sherlock could usually dish out, taking a delicate sip of her tea. Sherlock let out a dainty sniff, passing a cup of tea to John. For all his haughtiness, he was unable to hide his flush when Felicity started giggling.

"So, John, I hear that you served in Afghanistan." Mummy changed the topic then, to save John any further embarrassment. She and John somehow clicked right away; for such an imposing woman, she very easily made John feel at home. It was a miracle that the two of them, so different, had so much to talk about. Felicity sat and listened mostly. She was happier watching Sherlock and John sitting on the couch, hands clasped on the cushion between them, than she was engaging in small talk. She memorized the unconscious bliss on Sherlock and John's faces until she could feel that same bliss herself. The crucible had passed; their suffering, for the moment, was at an end. She, Sherlock, and John were a family, and they always would be.

After tea, Felicity insisted on getting a tour of the grounds (she craved fresh air after being cooped up in the flat _healing _for so long). Mummy was more than willing to oblige them, leaving Sherlock and John time to 'tour the house'. Once Mummy and Felicity were off, walking down the sloping green lawns of the Estate, Sherlock had grabbed John's hand and had towed him through the long, elegant manor hallways and stairs up to the fourth floor. Some frantic kissing and laughter later, Sherlock was pushing John down onto a large, fluffy duvet. "Finally," the detective groaned, tugging John's shoes off, then socks, as John frantically took his jumper and then shirt off. He undid the buttons on Sherlock's dress shirt as quickly as possible without ripping them out as Sherlock undid the doctor's belt. A brief round of tugging, a bit of swearing, and a lot of laughing later, both men were finally able to engage in the passions they'd been waiting to express for years.

**OoOoOoO**

Once Sherlock and John cleaned up, flushed with success, they ventured back down to the main floor of the house…to find no one there. It was getting late, dark out, even, and Mummy and Felicity were nowhere in sight. A butler informed Sherlock and John that dinner would continue as planned at six, and that Mrs. Holmes and Ms. Muller were not to be disturbed on the second floor. As soon as the butler said 'second floor', Sherlock's face flinched slightly as the butler walked away. "What is it? What's wrong?" John pounced, seeing his expression.

"The machine gun collection is on the second floor." Sherlock explained shortly, his face smoothing back over.

"Oh," John managed, suddenly frightened by the idea of little Felicity firing a machine gun. The idea in his mind was oddly lethal, even though Felicity was the sweetest thing he knew of. "Your Mother…she wouldn't let Felicity-?"

"Yes she would," Sherlock interrupted with a sigh, passing a hand over his face. "And going up to bother them now would be useless. I'm sure that Felicity is…more than enthralled with the collection and cannot be dissuaded now."

"Hmm," John mused. "What should we do in the meantime?" He looked briefly around them before seizing Sherlock and tugging him over to a spacious supply cupboard that blended in with the paneling of the hallway. The door had barely closed behind them before he was gripping Sherlock through his trousers and nipping at his collarbones. Because of their excursion in the closet, Sherlock and John were almost late to dinner. When they arrived, Felicity looked blissfully happy, and Sherlock hadn't seen Mummy looking so alive since before his Father passed. It was a welcome change in both important women in his life, and it was enough to make him forget (for the moment), about John. That was, until he saw John slide his hand into his pocket and twirl something, as if nervous.

"So glad you two could join us. I'm assuming that you got a very nice tour of the house, John?" Mummy asked sweetly, and Felicity, who had been taking a sip of water, choked and had to be thumped on the back, minding her sore shoulder, until her airway cleared.

"Honestly, this elephant in the room is maddening. Yes, John and I engaged in an act of copulation. End of story." Sherlock tried to say it with an air of disdain, but his ears were turning red and his mind was on other things. What was in John's pocket? Could it be what he thought it was- and if it was what he thought it was, Sherlock wanted to beat him to it.

"It is hardly the end of the story, Sherlock. I daresay that I will be teasing you and John about it for weeks." Mummy declared, an amused sparkle in her eye.

"Then I guess I should give you something else to talk about," John leapt in, and Sherlock saw his hand go for his pocket- if the detective was dead on his game, which he _was, _he knew that there was an engagement ring in John's pocket, and, being as childish as he was, he wanted to propose first. His mind half on the growing happiness and butterflies in his stomach and half on 'winning' the engagement battle first, Sherlock interrupted.

"Considering I am involved in being the butt of your horrific sense of humor, I believe that I have to provide you with other talking points as well," Sherlock insisted loudly, standing up so that his chair pushed back to the wall. John, to his credit, knew what he was doing and (by Felicity's judgment) whipped out his ring box before Sherlock did. Both men, in a rush, trying to speak over each other, declared:

"Will you marry me?"

Felicity dropped her glass onto the table, where it shattered against the edge of her plate, but no one paid any attention to it. She and Mummy were staring at the two men with large eyes as Sherlock and John stared at each other, half shocked and half giddy. The ring that Sherlock had picked out, with Mummy's help, was simple but elegant- exactly the way he saw John. The band was plain silver, with a stripe of highly polished finish going around the length of the ring. It stood out strongly and yet blended in, and John had done so and surprised him more than once. John could be incredibly brilliant, so unique, and yet he was also the one person who could ground him in normalcy and reality. The ring John had got for Sherlock, on the other hand, was also a plain silver band, but two parallel grooves went around the ring. For John, they symbolized the two different sides to Sherlock he had had the honor of witnessing. One was the brilliant, alive detective that got rid of his psychosomatic limp and had earned the praises of, "Fantastic!" and "Brilliant!". The other side was Sherlock's human side, the side brought out by Felicity's love. When Sherlock wasn't ruthlessly on a case, he was compassionate, kind, and loving. The two sides of Sherlock, while they were different and never intersected, were both parts of Sherlock and, in John's opinion, deserved to be symbolized in the man's ring.

Wasting no time, Sherlock reached across the table and took John's left hand, sliding the ring onto the appropriate finger with slightly shaking fingers of his own. _Sentiment. _He managed to identify happily as John, with his shorter arms, struggled but managed to do the same, the ring he'd chosen fitting nicely on Sherlock's thin finger. Both men stared at each other for a moment, the idea that they were each other's, that they had the other person to love and hold, sank in. When it did, John hurried around the table, grabbed Sherlock by the collar, and pulled him down for a kiss. He never thought in his entire life that he would end up marrying and being blissfully happy with the strangest and most brilliant man he had ever known, with an adopted daughter. That aside, he had never imagined that he could possibly be so happy.

Before Felicity could stop herself, tears boiled over her eyes and ran down her cheeks. In her short life, she had experienced moments of happiness, but the majority of the emotions she'd felt could be categorized under depression, and the feeling of being lost. Seeing Sherlock and John standing there, lips locked, bands on their fingers, the boldest spark of happiness she had ever felt blossomed into her chest with such life that it almost hurt. She had always thought that Sherlock and John were her example that things always got better, but she had never been more correct until that moment. "You competitive, childish git," John murmured once he and Sherlock finally broke their kiss. "You couldn't just let me have this, could you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John." Sherlock practically purred in his ear before standing back, kissing his new husband's hand.

"Well," Mummy finally managed, beaming at the two men with pride only a Mother could conjure up. "When is the wedding?" She asked, breaking out into laughter, Felicity joining in with slightly tear-jerked giggles as she hastily swiped away her tears. The sound of their laughter punctured John and Sherlock's own little world; and before they knew it, John and Sherlock were laughing too.

Ω

**OoOoOoO**

**A/N: Your reward for putting up with my shit and meddling and drama is fluff so fluffy you want to cuddle it and puke on it at the same time. I hope it wasn't too over the top- I don't really write fluff that often, so...**

**Writing this story was so much fun and it was such an honor to get reviews from all of you. You all helped me to become a better writer, and so I am very grateful to you all. I got some reviews expressing concern that I would drag it on too long, and I'm hoping to every god ever created that I didn't drag it out; I hate it when stories do that. Anyway, a big thank you to everyone who was along for the ride.**

**That includes louisuperwholocked- the bestest beta ever. I don't know how you put up with me, but you do- and I thank you for that.**

**Thank you all so much!**


	26. Happiness Found

Happiness Found

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"_It was worth a wound; it was worth many wounds; to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation__." –Arthur Conan Doyle_

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* * *

Although it seemed like it would never come, the wedding between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes finally came. For Felicity, it had been a long time coming. Even though both men had practically raced each other to propose first, both men had dragged their heels when it came to the planning and execution of the wedding. They argued that they were busy, that they had cases, and even that Mycroft could handle everything, which if the situation wasn't so serious, would have made Felicity laugh. Of all the times Sherlock and John were willing to trust Mycroft implicitly, it was at their _wedding?_

Despite their reluctance, Felicity took charge of the situation. Of course, Mummy was a great help to her, especially because Sherlock and John agreed that she was safer at the Holmes Estate than she was at Baker Street when they were solving cases (which was all the time), and the two would spend hours debating ideas for the wedding. Both agreed that the idea of it taking place in a church wouldn't work. For one thing, neither John nor Sherlock were very religious. Also, same-sex marriages may have been _legal, _but there were very few churches that would allow a marriage between two men to occur on their property. With churches out of the question, Mummy and Felicity's attention briefly turned to public buildings, but ruled them all out because they didn't provide adequate protection or security. Finally, out of convenience and necessity, the two of them settled on holding the wedding at the Holmes Estate and arranged for another Holmes property out in Aldeburgh. It was private, on the coast, and, most importantly, safe. The property included about an acre of rolling grassland before it hit the coast, where a small but luxurious cottage was settled.

Once they had their two locations narrowed down, Felicity and Mummy set to figuring out the style of the wedding. Luckily, at that point, Felicity could _finally _remove her sling. Physical therapy time cut into her 'plan the wedding' time, but Felicity was more than grateful to get her arm back- she'd been going insane not being able to play the piano, comfortably read a book, type, etc. Planning the wedding was very fun. Because Sherlock and John weren't rushing to actually tie the knot, Felicity and Mummy could 'rush' at their own pace. Without a set deadline, they could smoothly work out all of the kinks. They decided to keep things very simple (after all, it was just Sherlock and Johnwere getting married). The grand entrance hall and foyer were going to be used for the ceremony- the foyer would hold all of the guests and the ceremony would take place at the mouth of the hallway. Once the ceremony was over, all the guests would have to do would be to walk down the hallway to the formal dining hall and, from there, to the ballroom.

There wouldn't be any decorations- just a plain white pedestal for the justice of the peace who would be conducting the ceremony. The chairs for the guests would be mahogany antiques from the marriage of Mr. Holmes to Mummy. Despite their age, Felicity found that they were quite comfortable and fit with the grandeur of the foyer and the entrance hall. Dinner would be a four course meal consisting of chicken and gnocchi soup with spinach gemolada, an apple and walnut endive salad, roasted quail with red grapes and pearl onions served with garlic mashed potatoes for the entrée, and cheesecake with lemon blueberry topping for dessert. Palate cleansing raspberry sorbet was to be served in between each course. Mummy was a bit of a food enthusiast, and since she had nothing but recourses and time, she constructed a menu for the wedding in less than a day.

With the meal taken care of, the responsibility of getting both men dressed appropriately fell to Felicity. For one thing, Mummy was still quite enamored with the meal she'd prepared. Also, even though she was Sherlock's mother, she couldn't convince him to do anything he'd set his mind against. Felicity, however, was the little girl who had him enamored within twenty minutes of their meeting. She'd convinced Sherlock to do all sorts of things, from eating vegetables to apologizing to John (John had gotten angry, convinced that Sherlock was playing a joke on him, that's how often Sherlock apologized to him), so getting him to dress appropriately shouldn't have been a challenge. Right? "Sherlock, you're wearing a suit _now," _Felicity said, exasperated, as she poked the detective in the stomach. She was back at Baker Street, trying to convince Sherlock of being fitted for a nicer suit.

"Irrelevant. My suits are an entirely different style than a formal suit." Sherlock claimed ridiculously, not moving the arm that was laying over his eyes to acknowledge Felicity.

"Sherlock. It. Is. Your. Wedding. You _must _wear a suit." Felicity told him, and when he said nothing, she drew herself up, prepared to do whatever was necessary to get him to agree. "I don't have to get your measurements from you, you know." Felicity said quietly, and Sherlock snorted.

"You already know my measurements- you could figure them out just by looking at me. Just because you have a suit made for me doesn't mean I'll wear it." Sherlock declared, managing to look smug even with his eyes hidden.

"What if I stole all your clothes and made your suit too small? You'd look like a fool at your own wedding." Felicity challenged.

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I?"

Sherlock removed his arm to glare at Felicity.

"I'll just wear the sheet off my bed. John likes it- that's enough for me." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, a smug look in place, clearly thinking he'd won. Felicity smiled back dangerously, and his smugness faltered. John, who was sitting across the room, smiled into his book and kept reading. He'd agreed to the suit gladly- it was better than his military uniform. While he and Sherlock were both proud of his military service, John didn't want to wear it. His time in the military came _before _Sherlock, and the last thing John wanted to do was to look to the past. Therefore, he'd been more than happy to get fitted for a classic grey suit by Brioni. John waved Felicity off repeatedly as she tried to describe it. He trusted her and he also trusted the fact that Mummy had probably given Felicity a wardrobe budget of about a hundred thousand pounds. He didn't want to think about the price. At. All. Instead, he pictured Sherlock in that nice of a suit and got distracted from his book.

"You forget, Sherlock, that I have friends. Power. I can delay your wedding forever if that's what it takes. If you try to elope, you'll be unable to legally wed. I've already got it all fixed, you see. I know that you and John were willing to wait, but not forever. And I can wait a lot longer than you can, _trust me." _Felicity leaned close, eyes as cold as ice. Sherlock glared back, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine," he muttered, and in an instant Felicity had given him a big hug.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed happily, and John chuckled. Sherlock sent him a look.

"Don't encourage that type of behavior, John. She's clearly spending too much time with Mycroft." Sherlock sniffed.

Once Sherlock had been blackmailed into dressing in a suit for his wedding, Felicity and Mummy picked a date and sent out the invitations. It would be a small wedding, nothing fancy, with only close friends and family attending. That meant a few members of the Holmes family would be attending (Great Uncle Rutherford sounded like an interesting fellow) but that also meant that Harry, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Donovan, hell, even _Anderson _were coming. Sherlock had made a lot of friends over the years as well on cases, and so people like the great chef Angelo were coming too. All in all, about one hundred guests were expected.

After Sherlock got particularly grumpy when Felicity reminded (ordered) Sherlock to write wedding vows, Felicity gave John a cheerful goodbye before going back to the Holmes Estate to help with the preparations and set up. The Holmes Estate didn't need much, but Felicity found herself swept up by the excitement of the wedding. She helped clean chairs that had been brought out of storage, she tasted the preliminary dinner that the cooks had made (with Mummy, of course), and chatted with the servants as she helped them clean. In no time all of the Holmes Estate was looking more beautiful than ever. Every available surface shone, and things were so neat and orderly the house looked like it belonged in a museum instead of being a place that people actually lived in.

The day before the wedding, Sherlock and John arrived in the mid-afternoon. They were supposed to come mid-morning, but they got a bit…distracted. The distraction may have involved John's old uniform (it wasn't being used in the wedding anyway) and a riding crop. Maybe. Possibly.

They spent most of the evening lying around the one room in the house reserved for 'being messy', as Mummy put it. It was the only room besides the kitchen and their own bedroom that anyone could exist in without, according to Mummy, making a mess. Sherlock wondered briefly if it would be worth the fight of setting up an experiment in the kitchen, but one look from John ended the idea. He brought up viewing Mummy's machine gun collection, but most of the guns had been sent into London for cleaning and storage during the wedding anyway. With nothing to make a fuss with, Sherlock ended up flopped on a loveseat, his head in John's lap, his long legs dangling off the edge. Felicity had her nose in a book (photosynthesis of monocots) and was quietly reading, her mind half on the wedding and half on the biological processes of certain plants. It was then, all of a sudden, that Sherlock realized he was missing a pop culture event. "John!" he cried, sitting up and nearly whacking his forehead, on John's chin. "John! Aren't you supposed to be somewhere? Aren't _I _supposed to be somewhere?"

"Where else would you be, you great git?" John asked mildly, and Sherlock scoffed at him.

"Aren't men supposed to have a party before their wedding? I believe it functions as an excuse to get drunk." Sherlock deadpanned, and John chuckled, rubbing his head.

"Oh, you mean a bachelor party- your last night as a 'free man'. Eh," John shrugged to voice his opinion on it, dropping his hand.

"Eh?" Sherlock repeated in a demanding tone, lifting an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to make of that?"

"You don't have to make anything," Felicity said from behind her book. "At seven o' clock Mycroft and Lestrade will arrive and sneak you out of the house. John, you're going with Mycroft- Lestrade will take you, Sherlock, and you won't come back until about four in the morning. It was supposed to be a surprise, but, eh," Felicity shrugged around her book.

"Again with the 'eh'?" Sherlock demanded, sitting up straighter in a rush of failing limbs.

"Wow, really? That's so nice of them." John noted, sounding thrilled. "Where are we going?"

"Surprise," Felicity reminded him, turning a page in her book, her tone absentminded.

"Oh, got it. Thanks, Felicity," John added, and Felicity gave him a brief thumbs-up. Sherlock leapt to his feet to pace, muttering 'eh' several times under his breath, and was ignored by both John and Felicity. When seven o' clock rolled around, he crouched in front of Felicity's chair, eyes alight with excitement.

"This was a ruse to distract me! What is really going on here?" Sherlock asked, and Felicity lowered her book and looked Sherlock dead in the eye, a perfect poker face on. They stared at each other for a minute straight, neither saying anything nor breaking eye contact, until Felicity spoke.

"Eh," She said in a nonchalant voice, and a muscle in Sherlock's jaw twitched, his eyes narrowing. Before he could utter another word, there was a knock on the door before Lestrade stuck his head in.

"Oh, hello, Lestrade!" John said cheerfully. Lestrade grinned at him, giving him a friendly nod.

"Ready to go, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, coming to stand next to Sherlock, who was watching Felicity intently.

"Where are you taking him, Lestrade?" John asked, giving Mycroft a friendly nod as the elder Holmes slipped in as well with a suspiciously blissful smile.

"Can't tell you, John. It's a surprise." Lestrade said, waggling his eyebrows. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You win this time, Felicity," Sherlock sounded like he'd rather be getting his teeth pulled than admit that, and Felicity lowered her book, flashing him a lovely smile, the one that never failed to melt him out of the worst of his wounds.

"Have fun!" She wished, smiling at every man in the room. Her heartfelt expression made Sherlock waver again. He knew that Felicity was up to something…but what? However, as he usually was when it came to Felicity, Sherlock found that he was happier not knowing. She had nothing but good intentions and had no reservations about trusting her- even if the nosy side of him wanted to know everything.

"We'll bring them back tomorrow, unhurt, as promised," Mycroft said in almost a dainty fashion, treating John to another rare but genuine smile as the doctor raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I'm not the one to make promises to. If Mummy knew, you'd have to grovel to her, not me. Anyway, enjoy yourselves!" Felicity said brightly, and John swooped down and gave her a kiss on the forehead before leaving with Mycroft without complaint.

"Come on, Sherlock. You don't want to be late to your own party, do you?" Lestrade asked, and Sherlock gave him another withering eye-roll before planting a kiss on Felicity's cheek.

"You learned from the best, Felicity." He told her, and they both grinned at each other before Sherlock left, Lestrade bringing up the rear. Felicity waited exactly five minutes before shutting her book and heading down to the second floor. She reached the fifth door on the left and went in without knocking.

"They're gone. _Finally." _Felicity told Mummy Holmes, who was standing at the front of a firing range astride a very large machine gun, staring down her target. She turned to grin at her granddaughter.

"Is that so? Without fuss?" She questioned as Felicity climbed up the machine gun set aside for her.

"Sherlock suspected, of course, but as he said, I learned from the best. You." She giggled, and Mummy chuckled herself, passing Felicity a pair of ear-protectors. Felicity took them, checking her machine gun perfectly to make sure it was in working order before lining up a long clip of bullets into the slide.

"Don't stop until you're out," Mummy told her and they grinned at each other before putting on their earmuffs.

.

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, he was mildly impressed with the size of his headache. It took quite a lot of alcohol to give him a hangover, but, then again, he had been drinking copious amounts of it with Lestrade. Head fuzzy and his tongue thicker than his latest experiment involving gelatin and a human liver, Sherlock dragged himself out of bed and to the ensuite bathroom. He was disappointed that John was nowhere to be found before he remembered another pop culture idea regarding weddings. It was bad luck to see the bride or groom before the ceremony. _Pity, _Sherlock thought. He had some interesting stories to tell John about his night…

Three floors down, John was engaging in similar activities. After a night of what he was pretty sure consisted of doing _shots _with Mycroft Holmes, John wanted nothing more than to show Sherlock the picture he'd found on his mobile of Mycroft in a sweatshirt and jeans, managing to look normal, downing a shot. How the British government himself had managed to pull of the night John had had, the doctor would never know. All he did know was that a) he was pleasantly surprised at how normal Mycroft could be, b) he had a hangover from hell, and c) _Shit, I'm getting married. Today._

.

Two hours later, guests were arriving, the waiting staff was servicing the open bar, and Sherlock and John were in separate rooms, enforced by Mycroft's goons and, of course, Felicity. She had gotten ready much more quickly than the two grooms (she didn't have a massive hangover to hold her back) and had taken it upon herself to keep the two apart and presentable for the ceremony. In a dress and heels it was a bit difficult, but once Felicity found out that she could use her shoe as a weapon to force Sherlock into taking ibuprofen for his headache, she got used to it. Once Sherlock was medicated, dressed, and entertained on the deal that if he spilled his experiment on himself Felicity would personally make him eat it, Felicity went to check on John.

"This is ridiculous," John huffed as he tried once again to tie his tie. He'd tied many ties before, but, for some reason, his fingers didn't want to cooperate that particular day. "Ah, hello," He greeted Felicity in the mirror as she came over, grinning.

"Hi yourself. Come here- let me tie that," Felicity requested, and John crouched, admiring how his suit moved easily with his body. He'd been worried that the expensive suit would stifle him and that it would be stiff and uncomfortable, but he found it to be the exact opposite. Felicity tied his silver tie with ease, smiling at the fabric. She had gone with matching suits for the two men- that way they couldn't nitpick each other's appearance. Both men were in light grey suits with black dress shirts underneath, which let the silvery tie stand out beautifully. On John, the suit showed off the power of his body, the military muscle. On Sherlock, he looked longer, leaner, and his throat looked almost unbearably elegant. For Felicity, she credited herself with a bit of evil plotting because she knew for a fact that the suits she'd chosen outlined the most favorite parts of the two men's lovers. John loved Sherlock's throat (she'd seen plenty of hickeys) and she knew that Sherlock couldn't keep his eyes off of John when he was wearing something that showed his muscular frame. "There you are," Felicity said, smoothing John's lapels and straightening the single white rose in his button-hole. Sherlock had one to match.

"Thanks, Felicity," John said gratefully, smoothing his hands on his legs nervously. She smiled knowingly in return, and gave him a hug, which John returned with enough force to nearly crush her.

"It's all going to be fine, trust me. Besides- you don't have any longer to worry; the wedding is starting soon," Felicity told him, and John leapt a foot and a half.

"Wait, everyone is here already?" John very nearly squeaked.

"Of course they are. Deep breaths, John. You invaded Afghanistan." Felicity reminded, pulling out her phone when it buzzed.

_Come here at once._

_-SH_

"Oh god," John moaned to himself and Felicity hastily stuffed her phone out of sight.

"I've got to go, John. Just stay calm. Think about, I dunno, think about Sherlock! And cases! And, well, you'll think of something!" Felicity managed over her shoulder. She shot out of John's room and made it up two flights of stairs to find Sherlock. He was pacing the room he was in with aggressive strides, glowering at the wall.

"There you are. Is this wedding going to happen today or not?" He snapped as soon as Felicity slipped inside. Felicity checked her phone for the time just as Mummy texted her.

_Are Sherlock and John ready? We have ten minutes before the nuptials start._

_-Mummy_

"Yes, actually. I'll walk you to your spot myself," Felicity said, and Sherlock huffed, clearly ready to sulk that he'd been pushed around all morning. "Quit sulking- this is the happiest day of your life," she lectured, and Sherlock shot her a glare.

"Setting the bar a bit low, aren't you?" He snarked, and Felicity stared at him for a moment, grinning. Sherlock was _nervous. _He had to be! She had never seen him in such an anxious and foul mood. He looked like a caged animal and he kept adjusting his tie as if he had half of a mind to rip it off. "What are you smirking at?" He very nearly barked, glowering at her happy complexion.

"Nothing," Felicity said innocently, taking Sherlock's hand and dragging him from the room, assuring Mummy with a lighting fast text that they were ready and being moved into position. "Got your vows?" Felicity prompted as she practically towed Sherlock through the house (him complaining all the while) and to the left door off of the entrance hall where he would enter for the ceremony.

"Yes, of course I do," Sherlock snapped, fidgeting with his cufflink. Felicity watched him glare at it for a moment, trying her hardest to hide her smile, but was unsuccessful.

"Sherlock?" She asked quietly.

"What?" Sherlock demanded, almost talking over her. His next barrage of insults and vocabulary was cut off in a slight _oof _noise that escaped from his throat when Felicity hugged him hard. He looked down at her in consternation for a moment before gladly hugging her back. She was centering him, banishing the stupid thoughts in his head about backing out, about John not loving him, about messing up his vows. She calmed him down, reminded him of what was important.

"I'm really glad you're getting married," She mumbled into his suit, and he gave her a gentle squeeze.

"I am too," he said quietly, the sound rumbling through his chest. After a moment, Felicity stepped back, wiped her eyes, and frowned at him, putting her hands on her hips.

"I'm trying to run a wedding here, and you're distracting me," She mock chastised, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now, _stay." _She demanded, pointing a stern finger at him before running off. She dragged John from the upstairs as well, getting him to the door on the right side of the entrance hall. She brushed off his suit, gave him a big hug, and calmed him down by telling John that Sherlock was just as nervous (which seemed to cheer John considerably). Once both men were in place, she texted Mummy furiously:

_They are in position. I'll get the rings and wait outside._

_-Felicity _

Her mission complete, Felicity took the two rings, which were sitting on a silver pillow, and retired to the front door, smiling at the stark white limo that would take Sherlock and John away once the wedding was over. She heard Mummy call everyone to their seats and turn the floor over to the justice of the peace. She heard the two doors open and had to stop herself from peeking in a window to see how John and Sherlock looked at each other. Luckily, she'd gotten a photographer to be present, so there would be photos from the wedding for her to look at, which was better than nothing. She settled down on the steps and listened to all of the meaningless babble about _why they were gathered _and how _the marriage would be lawful_ and everything that was already painfully obvious. Finally, the justice asked for the rings. One of the footmen pulled the door open for her, and off Felicity went. There was no rug in the aisle, so her shoes clicked neatly on the marble entryway as she entered. Guests on both sides practically beamed at her as she traveled down the aisle, pillow in hand. The justice of the peace looked amused, and John and Sherlock looked equal parts nervous and excited as she approached.

Felicity handed the rings to the justice and accepted a hug from each of her dads before sitting next to Mummy in the first row, ready to hear the vows. She noted that John's eyes were starting to well up _already _and Sherlock's usually elegant fingers were shaking and clumsy, despite all of his acting. With each other's ring in hand, both men stared at each other, suddenly lost for words. The intensity of their gazes reminded Felicity of how they used to stare at each other on cases, but this was much stronger. Then, John cleared his throat, shifted his feet, and raised his chin, his stance edging towards militaristic again. He looked at the ring for Sherlock in his palm, smiling at it.

"You are the greatest git I've ever known. From the first time I met you up until now, I have never known a better man. You are the most complex, caring and intelligent person I will ever meet. Your moods, your methods…just _you. _I love you." John told him, an odd, crooked smile pulling at his mouth as Sherlock blinked furiously, looking away, determined not to cry at his wedding. "Everything about you is fascinating, everything you do is amazing, and you have taught me so many things. You saved me from a depressed life, living on an army pension with that damn limp. You are literally the _best _thing to have ever happened to me. I have followed you through hell, believed in you when no one else did, and I will never regret any moment I spend with you for the rest of my life." John told Sherlock, his smile getting a bit watery, and Felicity spotted a few tears rolling down Sherlock's proud cheekbones. When it became clear that John was finished, he coughed a bit, shifting as well and clearing his throat. He refused to acknowledge the tears on his face, so the rolled down to his collar and vanished.

"John, I pride myself on being well-spoken, and yet it is very difficult for me to muster the words that could possibly describe the emotion I feel for you," Sherlock started, looking determinedly over John's head. "Before I met you, I was the type of person that I loathe, and yet I could do nothing to better myself. I was selfish, pushy, and unbearably cruel. Before I had a teacher, someone who could educate as well as love, I did not know how to make my life more bearable. When I first met you, I knew that you were different. Others might peg you as ordinary, but I thought I saw completely below the surface. I thought that I knew you completely that first day, but I was horribly mistaken. You are the first person in my entire life to continuously surprise me. I will never know every facet of your existence, but I hope to try- for you are the most perfect thing I have ever encountered, and I love you, my dear Watson." Sherlock finished, and if John wasn't crying (which he was), Felicity had shed enough tears with the readings of both of their vows to compensate. She had just been given a glimpse at true love, and that was something she would never forget.

"Exchange rings," the justice guided, and John and Sherlock slid their rings upon each other's fingers and didn't let go. "Your marriage is now legal. Please, kiss," She gestured, and in seconds the two men were kissing fervently and the small audience had broken into applause. The two men kissed a few more times, beaming at each other as the justice slipped away and the applause died down. Exchanging vows is an odd yet such a powerful experience that both men would think back to that moment for a long time. Both of them had been shocked by what the other had said, as if they still couldn't believe that they'd really found someone who loved them that much. They also felt a love so strong that it almost burned as it cascaded over them with enough force to leave them breathless.

"Cocktail hour will be held in the ballroom, ladies and gentlemen. It is straight back through this hall. Take your time upon arriving and may I bestow my happiest wishes upon Sherlock, John, and their marriage." Mummy Holmes spoke clearly, delight clear in her voice although she kept her tone elegant and calm. She gestured down the hallway, kissed each man on the cheek, and then strode away. The small audience followed her up until where Sherlock and John were standing, where they bombarded the happy couple with congratulations and love.

Felicity hung back, smoothing her dress and letting out a shuddery breath. The wedding ceremony had made her so happy that she was practically winded, and needed a moment to shake the emotionally draining feeling. "It's all such a rush, isn't it, dear?" Mrs. Hudson was suddenly beside her, making Felicity nearly jump out of her skin. She had seen Mrs. Hudson being one of the first to congratulate Sherlock and John, and Felicity had assumed that the older woman would then proceed to the ballroom to have another hearty talk with Mummy, but she'd been mistaken. "Oh, I didn't mean to scare you, dear," Mrs. Hudson tutted, rubbing Felicity's arm comfortingly.

"No, it's alright. You're completely right- the whole thing just hit me all at once and I wasn't even the one getting married!' Felicity exclaimed, and Mrs. Hudson smiled knowingly.

"You have every right to be a little tired, dear. You put a lot of work into the wedding and you have every reason to be a bit emotional about the whole thing as well. You take as much time as you need and I'll keep the vultures away," Mrs. Hudson told her conspiratorially, and Felicity smiled after her as she distracted one of Sherlock's relatives from approaching her. More grateful than ever for Mrs. Hudson, Felicity took a deep breath, stood, straightened her skirt, and then dove into the fray.

She talked and laughed with a lot of guests and Sherlock's relatives before she ran into the couple themselves. Sherlock had his long arm around John's trim waist and they were talking to Angelo (who was catering their honeymoon, although neither groom knew that). Felicity had been talking to Sherlock's Aunt Emilie who only spoke French, and the elderly lady had a habit of leaning forward when she spoke, so much that Felicity, in backing up to avoid colliding heads with her, had ran into Sherlock's back. He spoke quick and fluid French to his Aunt, wrapped his other arm around Felicity's shoulders, and pulled her next to his side.

"Ah! There is the forever lovely Felicity." Angelo crowed, swooping down to press a kiss to each of her cheeks. "You did a wonderful job, my dear," he told her warmly, and Felicity smiled up at him.

"Thanks, Angelo, but the true thanks go to Mrs. Holmes. She's in the ballroom if you want to tell her your congratulations," Felicity said, and Angelo kissed her forehead and set off for the ballroom.

"Well, for all your meddling and blackmailing, I thought the wedding was rather nice," Sherlock told her with mock stiffness, and she elbowed his side lightly.

"It's not over yet, genius. There's still dinner and dancing and then, well, the rest of your lives. But yes, I thought the ceremony was beautiful." Felicity agreed, and John chuckled as Sherlock rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on his family.

"I'm not dancing," Sherlock announced, and John chuckled again, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Yes you are," he murmured into his lips, and then pulled the detective down towards the ballroom. Dancing and cocktails were served for about an hour and a half, and Sherlock _did _dance and he did, although he wouldn't admit it, had fun. Felicity danced with practically everyone, so blissfully happy she couldn't believe any of it was real.

Dinner was a loud and happy affair. Although the venue and the food were gourmet, the company shook off the need for fancy, oppressive silence and had a good time. Jokes were told, laughter was had, and the dinner quickly disappeared. Felicity sat between Lestrade and John so that she could talk with her family and the DI as well as watch Mummy and Angelo get into an increasingly intense conversation about food. As the night wore on, the bar was opened and the guests danced most of the night away until at about eleven at night Sherlock and John went to take their leave. It was getting late and they were eager to start their lives together (again) via their honeymoon. The guests yelled a loud goodbye to them, but Felicity walked the two men down the now empty entrance hall and to the front steps, where the white limo was still waiting. As they arrived at the limo, John leaned down and pressed a kiss to Felicity's head, giving her a hug. "We'll be back soon, alright?" He told her, and Felicity grinned at him.

"Don't come back _too _soon." Felicity told him, and John chuckled, kissing her head again before stepping back so that Sherlock could take his turn. He knelt down and enveloped her, noting that he couldn't completely hide her with his frame quite as well as he used to. Felicity had grown- her head now rested in the joint between his neck and shoulder where before she could barely hide in his chest. An odd lump formed in his throat and he hugged her tight. He dismissed the emotional reaction to think about later- now was not the time.

"Don't do anything we wouldn't do while we're gone," he told her, and she started laughing. Sherlock pulled away, confused at why she was laughing.

"That is a completely conflicting statement, I hope you know. You and John would do completely opposite things in some situations. What am I to do?" Felicity challenged, shooting a grin at John when he chuckled. Sherlock looked at her for a moment, his heart swelling with love before he got a hold of himself, rising to his feet.

"Bother Mycroft for me, as much as possible." Sherlock instructed, and Felicity burst out into giggles.

"I will," She promised, and Sherlock bent down to kiss her cheek. She watched her two fathers get into the limo and drive away and the same feeling of utter relief and bliss that she'd felt when the two got engaged washed over her. Now she was truly sure that, despite the sacrifices and the suffering she'd gone through, she would be forever protected by Sherlock and John.

"Felicity! There you are!" Mycroft's voice suddenly jerked her out of her thoughts. She hadn't realized how long she'd been standing out there, and Mycroft, of all people, would have been the one to notice. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, coming to a stop beside her. Felicity flashed him a small smile.

"Nothing." She told him, noticing that he seemed strangely worried- a bit more overprotective than usual, but she wrote it off as emotion from the wedding. If she knew the Holmes brothers as well as she thought she did, she knew that they bottled up so much emotion that sometimes they weren't aware that some had escaped. Mycroft, in his usual 'protect my brother' way, would now focus his attentions on _all _of Sherlock's family- and that included her.

"Then come inside- you'll catch a chill out here. Besides, Aunt Emilie is looking for anyone who can speak French besides Mummy and I." Mycroft told her, the emotion vanishing and a wry smile taking its place. Letting him wrap an arm around her shoulders, Felicity allowed Mycroft to take her back to the party to talk with her great-Aunt.

As Mycroft left, looking for a drawing room that he could nurse a gin and think in private, Mummy appeared at his elbow. Her expression said everything. With a sigh, he hooked arms with her and led her to the room he'd been looking for. As soon as the door was closed, she started talking.

"You've been lucky this far, Mycroft, that Sherlock hasn't figured things out yet. You've been careful to keep him in the dark, but sooner or later he will find out. If by some miracle you continue to keep him in the dark, things will only get worse." Mummy told him coolly as he poured a gin by the drinking cabinet.

"To anyone but you, my actions tonight would have been nothing but what they were- sincere." Mycroft told her without turning around.

"Mycroft, it is not as if I do not believe that you care for Felicity- because you know I do. This is about being honest and putting this case to rest." Mummy said in a softer tone, but her voice was still firm. Mycroft sighed and settled down at the hearth in one of the large armchairs placed there just for the sole purpose of thinking. Mummy sat in the one opposite, her hard stare not leaving him for an instant.

"I wanted to give Sherlock time. When I first was debriefed on the Muller situation, I knew that by letting Felicity become close to Sherlock would help her as well as hurt her. It was convenient in the way that security was already watching Sherlock and, therefore, adding a bit to ensure that Felicity was well protected wouldn't come to pass as suspicious. However, Sherlock is a direct link to crime and the…persons looking for the information they are seeking. My program worked perfectly until Sebastian Moran's abduction forced us to broadcast her name and face all over the city. I feared that he would work directly with them, but the fact that he wasn't changes nothing. They have seen her, know who she associates with, and know where she lives." Mycroft paused, running a hand over his face.

"Who will you tell first? Felicity, or Sherlock and John?" Mummy asked. Mycroft sighed heavily, taking a sip of gin.

"I have no idea."

* * *

**A/N: Hello again! I know that I said that Innocence Lost was finished as in, _finished, _but I received a lot of reviews from people asking me to write a sequel. Considering I felt like a dick not including a blurb about the wedding in the first place, I thought I'd offer up something and segway into what could very possibly be a sequel. Tell me what you think, and thank you all again!**

**bitchinblackframedglasses**


	27. NEWS!

Hello!

This is a brief and hopefully encouraging message for you all.

Instead of working on the sequel to _Innocence Lost_ like I said I would, I got a little, um, hung up over the idea of Sherlock and John on a honeymoon. In consequence, I may have written a two part smutty fic about the two of them on honeymoon that will get its own story, called _Honeymoon. _If you don't want to read slightly kinky pure smut, disregard this message, and take my apology for not working directly on the sequel. However, if you are looking forward to _Honeymoon, _read it, and like it, don't be afraid to PM or review me with um, ideas you want to see written out. I wrote just those two parts, but I can write much more, smutty or not, about their honeymoon.

With that out of the way (sort of), I am happy to report that I will now turn my attention to the sequel to _Innocence Lost! _Called _Secrets Uncovered, _the sequel will cover over the mysterious ending to _Innocence Lost _and will go deeper into some ideas from this story that you may have wondered about. I can't let my characters die when it's proper, so stay tuned for some unraveling mysteries in the sequel. Spring break is coming up, so maybe I'll have time to bang out a few chapters then.

Finally, my attention on writing both of the things above got a bit diverted by an idea that popped into my head and then onto the page. I started a new Sherlock story, called _Somewhere, _and is about ghosts. If that is up your alley, check it out. It features kid!Sherlock and some ghosts. Intriguing? No? Yes?

A big thank you to all of you; your support is SO wonderful.

Thanks,

bitchinblackframedglasses


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